These Words On Paper
by Madam RedRose25
Summary: Set after How the Darkness Sounds. Follow up on how friends and family get back to normal as best they can with a little help from Stan. Warning: Spoilers! for How the Darkness Sounds. Do not read until you have read that story. Thank-you.
1. Randy's Letter

_**THESE WORDS ON PAPER**_

A/N: as long as one person wanted me to do this, I was going to. And there was. These are the letters Stan gives his friends and family, written before he died, read after, in How the Darkness Sounds.

**RANDY'S LETTER**

August 23rd 2013. Randy Marsh sighed in deep relief when the clock hit 5:30 PM; time for another day of work to come to a close. He went to gather his things and as he was closing his briefcase shut he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Going to be okay tonight Randy?" asked friend and fellow co-worker Nelson.

Randy sighed as he stood straighter. "I don't know, I can only keep doing what I have been. Each day is different."

Nelson nodded. "I understand. Look, just tell Sharon I give her all the best okay? I'm still holding on hope for your family Randy."

Randy gave a small grin. "Thanks Nelson, that means a lot."

When the man got into his car he contemplated what he should do first; it was Friday which meant he got paid and he wanted nothing more than to go to the bank and get his earnings for the week. He really needed that money too; ever since his son's death a month prier he had everyone move out of their apartment in Denver where they rented to be closer to him. But he still had to pay this month's rent for they still had their belongings there when the month began. That and added medical bills that were still piling up. It was very stressful to know he had little control over it. His other option as he sat in the car was to simply drive home. He knew his wife would be there and she needed his support now more than ever. The longer he'd be away the worst things might be when he did come home. He didn't want to risk Sharon doing anything threatening while he was out, even if his daughter Shelley was looking out for her mother. He shook his head; he knew where he had to go first.

Shelley got to her feet as soon as her dad opened the door to their house. She went to give him a small hug.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Never mind me, how's Mom holding up?"

Shelley sighed. "Same as she has been. I only got her to eat half a sandwich today. I'm waiting for the pills Dr. Crawley prescribed to kick in but so far no change. I still say Mom's not depressed, she's more than that. She's in another league of sadness. She doesn't eat either and I don't want to send her to _another_ doctor's appointment."

Randy rubbed his eyes as he sat on the couch. Ever since Stanley had succumbed to leukemia his wife had turned into a zombie. She hardly ate or drank or talked, she just sat there staring off into the world or else sobbing wherever she stood. Unfortunately she was in no state to work and the bakery/kid product store she worked at, Kiddin' Around had to let her go. She could not try to find a job back in South Park because again, she was in no right mind to work. Out of desperation did Randy contact Sharon's former boss Tom Marden if he'd reconsider hiring her but he was unable, as difficult as he seemed to sound saying so. This left all the money talk on Randy's shoulders although he had just gone back to work again a few weeks ago. Thankfully Shelley was of help at her mall job and there was never an end to donations from strangers and checks from Sharon's parents. But the toll of Stan's death was taking a huge chunk of life from everyone and Randy didn't know if he'd be able to survive another day.

Shelley took care of dinner that night; one of those Salisbury steak meals you put in the oven to heat, along with mashed potatoes. Sharon had been able to come downstairs to eat but she hardly touched her food and no amount of coaxing from Shelley or Randy helped. It was a very quiet supper until towards the end Sharon burst into tears.

"Aw, aww Sharon don't. Don't do this again, please…" Randy said gently.

"I-I-I- I miss St-Stanley…" she sobbed.

Tears filled Randy's eyes as he gripped her shoulders. "Shhh, I know Sharon, I know. I miss him too. But- but you have to eat more. It isn't healthy to keep doing this. We- we need to move on…"

He didn't believe his own words. There was no way it was easy to gain closure from the death of your twelve-year-old child who had a terminal disease. It took everything in him to stop his own crying for his wife was so much worse off. How could he think about himself when Sharon hardly ate each day and was in such a horrible mental state? She hardly spoke; there was a permanent look of fear in her eyes. Thankfully their daughter was of much help, almost taking charge of everything since July. She was even the one who picked out the outfit Stan would be buried in. He never saw, he couldn't. But he trusted his daughter had chosen the right clothes that would have made Stan happy. And now Shelley made sure her mother got out of bed each day and made sure she bathed and ate what she could. She was the one who took her to her various doctor appointments since the death even if so far nothing was working. Randy did believe his daughter when she said her mom was in a whole other field than depressed, but what exactly was it and was there any hope?

It was getting late and time for bed. Randy got to his feet and saw Shelley and Sharon on the couch.

"I don't know if she'll go back up tonight," Shelley said, arm around her mother.

Randy sighed and nodded. "Sh-Sharon, try to get some sleep tonight okay? You have your sleeping pills. Don't meet me in bed if you don't want to." She seemed not to have heard. "You know I'm there for you, okay Shar?" Sharon's eyes just glazed over. Shaking his head, Randy went upstairs. It was always difficult to pass by his son's bedroom on the way to the master; if he'd have it his way he'd switch Stan's room with the guest bedroom so then he didn't have to walk pass the door each day. Why did he and his wife want to have Stan's room the closest near their own? But it was too late to change it now. Out of habit, Randy creaked the door open, although not knowing why. There was no figure in the bed; the room was dark and empty of the items Stan had given his friends in his will but still filled plenty with other things. Heart aching Randy went to his own room and shut the door.

The master bedroom was messier than it ever had been; various clothes and such were strewn about. Some from Sharon's lack of caring or detail now, others because no one seemed to bother with what to do once they wore a certain shirt. After Randy took off his clothes and sat around in his underwear, he decided to put the clothes away, more so he had something to do before he went to bed rather than being annoyed with the messy room. He picked up his nice dress trousers and frowned when he saw something fall out of the pocket. He went to pick it up and tears instantly filled his eyes; it was an envelope with the word _Dad_ written on it. He knew what this was, it was a letter or something his son had written him before he died. Stan's lawyer presented an envelope to various people that evening of Stan's funeral. Randy never did open it, how could he? He simply placed it in his pocket, trying to block out the realization his son had indeed passed on.

But now… a month into the grief. Randy needed closure of some sort, perhaps this letter would be that thing. Perhaps after, he'd feel stronger and be able to help Sharon out with her own loss. Did he think he'd get away tear-free? Probably not. Tears would come no matter when he decided to read it. Sharon was downstairs with his daughter tonight; it might just be the right time to open the envelope up. Fingers shaking like an old man's, Randy sat on his bed and opened the envelope to reveal two folded pages with words written on them, front-to-back. It was indeed a letter. With baited breath, Randy began to read:

_Dad_-

_It's time I gather my final thoughts and such to you Dad. Let me tell you that you did a good job._

Tears were already flooding Randy's vision but he knew he had to go on.

_When I look back at my life you did what you had to do. From the beginning you played your role as dutiful husband and father and made sure your family was safe and happy. Of course there were moments I am not happy that are a part of my memory but I'll get to that later._

Randy frowned, wondering what those could be.

_You've really been the definition of a 'boy's dad' to me (and Shelley). You really took the time to listen to my guy problems. That's good to know. I love how you understood me about stuff. Remember when I told you about my first crush? You had fun with that and tried helping me with it in a way Mom couldn't._

Randy sniffed as a proud smile filled his face.

_Sure what you said didn't help (5 years after Wendy __still__ made me throw-up!) but I appreciate your words. Remember when Butters was queefed on? That was so gross! ! But you understood why, Mom didn't. But it was your idea to sing that song for her and the rest of the women and I thank-you for helping us guys apologize in the right way. You made farts funny Dad. You got why Terrance and Philip were funny. Thanks again for that one fart book and toy, I'll never forget how fun it was to bug and trick Mom with it! Remember when she had over her girl friends for that 'dignified' tea tasting party and I let off the fart toy? So funny and well-worth the time out._

Randy laughed through his tears as said memory entered his mind. That was such a fun day for the both of them.

_I want to thank-you for coming to my hockey, baseball, football, soccer, and karate games and tournaments. You did miss some but when you did show up it made me happy. This brings me to my first beef with you-_

Randy didn't know if he wanted to read on but he knew he had to.

_Why__ didn't you show up to all my games? Mom did. She came to every one. She made them fun, you made them suck._

Randy gasped; did his son really just write this to him?

_You were the one who freaked out during pee-wee hockey about that missed shot. Dad, I was four. FOUR. How did you expect me to make it? I didn't know what I was doing most of the time. You always had high expectations when it came to sports. Little league you just had to get drunk and make a scene by getting in fights with other dads didn't you?_

"Hey, I had every right to!" Randy found himself say in defense but he went on.

_You couldn't just sit and enjoy the game like Mom. I have a confession to make- I did not enjoy Little League much when I was younger._

"You didn't what?" Randy silently gasped. No way, there was no way he had just read those words. Surely Stan loved it, he had been playing for three years. If he hated the game he would have said so.

_It was boring and slow and I couldn't wait until the game was over so I could have my pizza and go home. I only played it because it made you and Mom happy._

Again Randy looked at the letter, confusion on his face. He just didn't think his son would say this because Stan would always voice if he didn't like something. What was wrong with the game? He was so good on the mound and he learned quickly. He could hit the ball and run so well despite having asthma. He was so good at the sport, what was to hate about it?

_But seeing as all that time you only wanted to train to get into MORE fights… it's hard to care now. Baseball is fun now-_

At this Randy's throat constricted. Knowing Stan wrote this when he had fallen in love with the sport…

…_but it wasn't as much then. Football was always fun. You didn't get __AS__ drunk during those games, although got pissed if I lost. FYI, I never saw myself as a pro-quarterback Dad. I know you were making visions of that for the past however many years. _

Randy sniffed and dabbed his eye. Maybe Stan knew him better than he thought all these years. He couldn't recall ever intentionally telling him he saw his son as a pro football player. At least not off the bat. But it was hard not to pretend. It was his right as a father to think of his son as a professional athlete, especially if they were great at the game they played. Seeing Stan dressed in his little Denver Broncos pajamas at age five… how excited he was when he got that Broncos helmet for Christmas at age eight… always there with him and the guys to enjoy the game every Sunday… well maybe a little part of him saw his son as being on the field someday. But it was weird to see words coming from someone who loved the sport so and was good at it saying those things. Every boy dreamed of being a professional as well did they not? Athlete or rock star, two of the biggest ambitions for any boy.

_But it was fun watching the game with you. It was our 'thing'. Soccer was fun as well although you didn't like going to those games either. Karate was a lot of fun but you NEVER saw me practice! Only to pick me up! What the fuck Dad? I wanted you to show up so you could see my new moves and getting a new belt! Anyway…_

Randy was feeling very guilty at this point. So far he was not shaping out to be a great father and it tore him up to see all he had done that had caused Stan to write these words. Most coming from things sports-related.

"Oh Stan… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry son. (_Sniff_) look at me, I couldn't even show up to my own son's soccer games. What kind of father was I to you? (_Sniff_) it's the one bond all fathers try to make with their boys but I fucked it all up…" he moaned. He was tempted to pop open a beer can but he didn't want to chance his wife and daughter seeing him in this state so he thought it best to power on. Surely not every word in the letter was full of negativity.

_Away from sports… you always put me above anyone and always made me feel important. Thank-you for that. I never had any doubt how much you loved me because you would always speak highly of me._

Randy was back to smiling again.

_Can I just say it bothered me how you didn't return the same feelings of affection with Shelley?_

"What?" Randy gasped. What was Stan on about now?

_Ya she's been a bitch to me from day one but she's your only daughter. Like I'm your only son, we're both important. She never really said anything but I know it upsets her how you and Mom always put me first. Maybe if you guys gave her the same attention she would have been nicer to me._

"What… what are you talking about St-Stan?" Randy sniffed. He never treated his kids different did he? What Stan didn't know what the four years of Shelley's life before he was born she was already a terror. A little girl that enjoyed pitching a fit to get what she wanted and pushed other kids during preschool. It had nothing to do with him.

_Something else that bothered me-_

"Oh now what? I get I was a screw-up already son," Randy said miserably.

_Your drinking._

Randy sighed, not surprised.

_Man I could go on forever with this one. If you didn't already know it was the thing I probably disliked most about you since it lead to all sorts of problems. Now there's a difference between being a drunken asshole like Kenny's dad and you. The difference is Kenny never cared. He actually rooted when his parents were in a drunken rage. Mr. Mc Cormick drank away his problems. You claimed your drinking was 'social'. Mom drinks socially Dad. You drink because- I don't even know. All I do know is your drinking caused problems- car accidents, police arrests, fights with Mom, idiotic behavior, annoyance with Shelley and me. I could go on and on. And you NEVER saw a problem with it!_

At this point Randy had to stop; he was shaking mad now and he needed to get on his feet and began pacing the room. He was the worst father, clearly Stan thought so. He didn't want to read the rest of the letter, all it was was his recently deceased son telling him he had done a horrible job raising him. His skin bubbled with guilt. Did Stan want him to feel this way? If so he was doing the job well. But his son was smart; he knew these words would bother him no matter what even if Stan loved his father. It was almost a half hour before Randy took up a seat on the bed again. Stan did love him. He had to. They had shared many great memories together. Sure Randy didn't understand why his son was the way he was at times, and they had different personalities and interests, but through it all… he knew he loved him. The kind words would be coming any moment now. And that was what allowed Randy to go on.

_You never owned up to your mistakes. You never cared about how __we__ felt. Most hurtful yet, you never apologized. I wish someday you will see the damage drinking has caused and why I hardly would ever do it if I lived to be legal._

"I'm sorry son, I'm so sorry…" Randy said as fresh tears emerged.

_I really don't mean to be so hurtful to you Dad. You __are__ a good person. Unfortunately you have caused a lot of strife for years. Stuff I don't think can ever be fully repaired. It is too late. I see how upset Mom is, I really find it hurtful to take sides but… I'm kinda on Mom's. I'm sorry to tell you this._

Randy shook his head, confused. What was Stan getting at?

_I'll leave it at that. But maybe after I go, things __can__ be fixed. Maybe my passing is/was meant to bring you, Mom, and Shelley closer. Please try, for me._

Randy was crying full-out now at his son's words.

_I don't think I need to say anything else to you that's negative. By now you should know how I feel. I'm happy you tried to get me. You did know me well. A lot more than some kid's fathers do._

Randy smiled now as the words he was searching for appeared.

_Oh! One of my favorite memories with you- swimming lessons with you when I was 6! ! If there was ever a more fun thing I did with you it was this. I felt safe in the water with you and you really encouraged me the whole time. It was one of the only times you were calm and not completive around me. I loved showing you what I had learned. Some was because of the instructor Mr. Hurst but most was because of you. Thanks for teaching me how to swim Dad._

Randy sniffed through a watery smile. "It- I'll miss those memories Stan. They were really fun. You were such-such a trooper the whole time."

_Now for the worst part, me the past 3 years…_

_For the most part you were there. You were really insisted no one help us. You were always by my bedside. You made sure visitors washed their hands before seeing me. You weren't dramatic about my diagnosis actually which was surprising. You just made sure I was getting the best care possible. Thanks for giving me a great few birthdays, esp. my 10__th__ when Mom was still unemployed. I'll never forget how happy I felt when you walked in with those 8 gifts!_

"You deserved it son…" Randy whispered.

_On another note…_

_Dad, Tom is a good person._

"What?" where had these words come from? Why was he bringing that man up?

_I know you didn't like him visiting Mom and me. But he is a good person. He has been able to provide Mom with much-needed support the past few years. It's not your fault really, you and her have just been going downhill before I was diagnosed anyway. All he wanted to do was be a friend for Mom and be a friend for me. He didn't want to fire Mom, he had to. If I could understand this at age 9, surely you can now. But maybe it's too late now._

Not knowing what to think of this, Randy read the last of the letter.

_I really have nothing more to say. Thanks for being a great father. Thanks for the support and surprises over my life. Thanks for never allowing me to wonder for a moment if you loved me or not. Thanks for being a true 'boy's dad'. Thanks for showing me the manly side of life. Thanks for being 'the best around.'_

_Don't dwell on my death too long Dad. I know I will be very happy wherever I'm going. I'm going to be surrounded be sports stuff and animals and chocolate. Tell Mom this constantly. I'm afraid she might take my passing hardest._

_I love you so much Dad and will never forget you._

_Love, your son_

_Stanley_

_May 5, 2013_

Randy sat there in shock for almost an hour, thinking about everything he had just read. He still felt like a bad father but Stan had told him he wasn't. Yet there was a lot of hate in the letter. A lot of mistakes he apparently made yet he couldn't recall most. Things he didn't even think were a big deal. Missed soccer games. So what? No American kid liked soccer. But did Stan? His heart ached terrible not knowing the answer to that, and now it was too late. Maybe he didn't know his son as well as he thought. And did he really have it that bad with his own daughter? He knew his kids had gotten closer the past couple years. It was very likely they did spill secrets to each other during those nights spent in their shared bedroom at the apartment. Holding onto that trust they had formed not to tell anyone they told each other. What did Stan and Shelley talk about?

Sharon. So many mentions of his wife being there in ways he as a father, should have. He couldn't argue Sharon had never missed any of Stan's games or practices. But he had no idea Stan had been this annoyed about his drinking. So much came back to that. He wasn't that bad of an alcoholic. Was he even one? Again, did it matter now? His son was always a very open and honest boy; he had to have reason to say the things he did.

But in the end he did an okay job. He did share a lot of good times with Stan. He was there with the video camera the day he took his first steps across the living room. He was there with his wife to help hold down Stan as he screamed his head off getting his kindergarten shots. He was there to listen to all sorts of tales from school since he was little. The popsicle stick frame that held a picture of the two building a snowman when he was five with the words '#1 Dad!' still hung in his office at work. He taught Stan how to belch. To name his own farts. To pull pranks on Sharon even if it landed him in time-out. It was always worth it because the laughter that came after triumphed. He was always there to lend a hand if Stan needed him to fix a broken toy or if he had a boy problem only he could understand. He was the one who taught him how to throw a baseball. How to catch a football. And he knew that if Stan had been able to hold on a little while longer, it was he who would have gotten to him first about the infamous 'birds and the bees' talk. He who would have taught Stan how to shave. He who would have told him to have fun when his voice began breaking and cracking. He would have been there for him in so many other ways.

It was getting late now. Randy had folded the letter back up in the envelope and set it on his bedside table right where a framed picture was of Stan taken sometime last year. His poofball hat over what he knew was a bald head. He was beaming as he stood by a lake, candy bar in hand. He always loved this picture, simple yet beautiful, with something Stan loved more than anything in life-sweets. He had done a good job. He had been there for his son when his son needed him most. And he was full of all those memories of simply being, as Stan put it, 'a boy's dad.' And as Randy drifted off to sleep he had to remind himself that his son did indeed love him, and that was all he needed to begin closure.

_I hope you understood a bit why the letter turned out this way. But even if Randy had many flaws, Stan still loved him dearly. Other letters to follow: Sharon, Shelley, Kyle, Butters, Cartman, Kenny, Alice, Dr. Davies, and Dr. Fohlkoly, not in that order. I hope you are still interested in everyone's thoughts post How the Darkness Sounds. Thanks, and please leave a review._

_Lots of love: Rose, November 17, 2011_


	2. Shelley's Letter

**SHELLEY'S LETTER**

Brrring. Briiiing. Briiing. It had only been a week and there were still a flood of calls coming into the Marsh household. Shelley had barely set down her keys after coming home from work when she had to take hold of the phone ringing in the kitchen. Her father was taking care of business in Denver while her mother was in her bedroom. Fellow neighbor and baby-sitter of the Marsh kids since they were babies, Barbra Hearton, had been looking out for Sharon until Shelley came home and now that she was Shelley wanted to go up and check on her mom but was stopped by the ringing telephone.

"Hello?" she asked rather heavily.

"Is this the Marsh home?" spoke a female voice.

"Yes."

Some rustling on the other end. "My name is Patricia Gellaway. I work as the library aid for South Park Jr. High. I just called to tell the Marshes I am deeply sorry for their loss."

Shelley sighed. "Thank-you."

"I don't remember Stanley too well but I am sure he was a wonderful boy and what happened to him was so tragic. So young."

"Yes, I know."

"I was wondering where I could send a little something for the grief? Are there any fundraisers being held in the poor boy's name?"

Shelley rubbed her itchy eyes. "There is the Smiles for Stan Fund which is currently collecting money to help pay off all the medical expenses. You may make any donation to 1002 Pine Tree Road South Park. That's the current location for donations."

A pause.

"May I ask who I'm speaking to?" Ms. Gellaway or whoever asked.

Shelley sighed. "The sister of the recently deceased boy we're discussing."

Shelley was able to shake the lady off a minute later. It was almost time for dinner and as it had been the past couple weeks, she would be in charge. She didn't feel up to making anything though; she was exhausted from working the past few days and dealing with the idiots at Rocky Mountain Sweets as well as the stress that came from the recent death of her brother. Yes Shelley Marsh was deeply sadden she had lost her one and only brother. The two had grown closer the past two and a half years and even though she was sure Stan had treasured every moment it didn't stop her from feeling sick. Not a day went by she found herself wishing she could turn back time and apologize for everything she had ever done to him (within reason). If only Shelley had known years ago that Stan would suffer through leukemia she might have gone easy on him and they could have had more years with a healthy sibling relationship. Again, she was certain Stan died happy, knowing his sister was there for him, but it still made her skin crawl in an annoying way.

Shelley realized she had been home for close to half an hour now; time to check in on her mother. She made her way upstairs and cracked open the master bedroom door. The room was dark.

"Mom? I'm home," Shelley said gently, stepping in.

Sharon was sitting up in bed with no real expression to her face. She clutched a wad of tissue.

"Mom?"

No response. Shelley sighed.

"Mrs. Hearton told me you didn't step out this room at all today." Nothing from Sharon. Shelley went on. "Look, I'm going to do something for dinner so I kind of want you to come downstairs and eat when it gets here okay? I'll- I'll come get you when it's ready." silence was her answer. She knew her mom wouldn't say anything so she shut the door and went back downstairs. She decided to just call for a pizza for a quick and easy dinner.

Trying to get her mind in order while the pizza man came, Shelley began to go about the house to tidy it up even if she was already done with messes for the day. There were dozens upon dozens of sympathy cards strewn about the living room, Shelley thought it best to get them sorted out and display them, if only for a short while. Not all of course, just those who her family actually cared about or knew. No one needed a reminder Stan was no longer with them but the cards were so beautiful and people poured their hearts out to try and make the Marshes feel better. She found a random card on the floor.

_With deepest sympathy_

Read the cover in fancy writing. She opened it to see if it was worth lying about- ignoring the card's pre-written poem.

_Marsh family-_

_I write this with a heavy heart. I am so sorry for your loss. I am sure there is no pain greater than that of losing one's child. I just want to say I feel so blessed to have known your son. Stanley was such a sweet, cute, bright, fun little boy and was one of the reasons I could not wait to step foot into work each day. I will never forget joking around with him and the other nurses about what a wise yet blunt child he was. I will always remember his bright shining eyes and sweet, crooked grin. I am so happy I got to know him when I did. Just remember, he is with Jesus now, running his own zoo in heaven. Stanley will be missed greatly by everyone he touched._

_My best wishes,_

_Michelle Tenten_

Shelley frowned as she looked at the card. Michelle… Michelle… it then hit her- Nurse Michelle had been Stan's favorite nurse since he began chemotherapy. Even if Stan was having one of his bad days he would always be happy to see that young black woman come in. She had an active imagination and was great at transporting Stan in a different state of mind during blood draws and IVs. She was also a favorite to the family as well. With a slight smile Shelley propped it up on the fireplace mantel. Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. Shelley took hold of the money she had set out for the pizza delivery and paid the young pimply pizza boy $14.40 before setting the pie on the dining room table. She went back upstairs to her mother's room to find her in the same state as when she left.

"Mom, the pizza's here. I want you to eat something today okay?"

Sharon turned her head slowly to her daughter. "Wh-what?"

"Mom- dinner. Food. Pizza?"

Sharon shook her head, same tissue she held an hour before still clutched in her hand.

"Mom I want you to eat downstairs with me. You didn't get out of bed all day. Please…"

Shelley gave up trying to convince her mother to eat five minutes later; she just wasn't in it to argue. Instead she brought up two slices on a plate and a cup of Pepsi for her.

"I got Hawaiian, I know it's your favorite," Shelley said softly. "I'll be back up soon. And I better see all the pizza on this plate gone." She didn't know if her mom heard her or not. Shaking her head Shelley went back downstairs and got her own plate and drink ready. She sat at the table in the living room, pushing aside the cards and whatnot on it for her food. She didn't want to watch TV as she ate so went back to sorting the cards, taking extra care not to stain them with pizza fingers.

One from the Samuelsons down the street. Nice simple card but they weren't close so she put it in the pile to the left of her. One from Mrs. Burgam, Stan's kindergarten teacher. She was a nice lady and one of his best teachers, that was in the display pile. Pete Erikson? She didn't know anyone of that name and the card led no answers so it was in the pile of those less-important people. She then spotted an envelope with the name _Shelley_ written on it in purple Sharpie. She frowned, turning the thing over. Had someone given a sympathy card to just her? She felt the envelope- it didn't feel like a card was inside. Her stomach then flipped; she knew that handwriting. Fingers shaking she opened the envelope up and yes- unfurled a letter three pages long, each word written in Stan's crammed untidy lettering. Those loops he did on his y's and g's. Squeezing words at the end of each line. All his. What was it doing in a pile of cards? She had wondered where it had gone after her brother's lawyer presented it to her but she didn't think that hard on it for she had plenty else on her mind. But it was here now and she _had_ wondered about it for a week now. Might as well see what he had written her. She wiped her fingers on her napkin and drank from her soda. Three pages. What on earth did her little brother go on about to her of all people for three pages? She was highly curious.

"Okay Stan, why did you write to me?" she wondered aloud as she flattened the first page.

Looking down from the _Shelley_ written on the title line, Shelley read the first sentence.

_First off, are you surprised I'm even writing you a letter?_

"A little. I thought you told me all you needed to months ago…" she sighed.

_If so it must mean I indeed passed on. Whether or not you're dancing about this now is your call._

Shelley frowned; they had gotten closer the past two years, surely Stan knew she wouldn't be happy he had died.

_Anyway, I have decided to write a 'final thoughts' letter to all those people who have made my life just a bit more better. Shockingly you are one of those people. I guess I should just get right to it._

_Shelley, even though we have had too many bad memories together I could write 10 books about it, you were my sister and I loved you._

Shelley gave a slight grin, the famous lame words her brother would always tell her. It made her hit him when he was eight but now…

_There I said it. Shelley, it hurts me a lot to know you have resented my face ever since Mom gave birth to me, perhaps even before. It stings me to know that the majority of my life I did not have that kind, caring, thoughtful, fun older sister most kids have._

Shelley sighed, knowing he would say something like this so soon in the letter.

_It has hurt me all my life. Was it intentional? Why? __Why__ did you hate me so? I never did __ANYTHING__ to make you hate me. If it was all just because I was the youngest and got most of Mom and Dad's attention, that's low. As the saying goes, I didn't __ask__ to be born. You shouldn't blame me for your life. You shouldn't hate __me__ just because I exist. The more mature thing you should have done was get to __know__ me._

Shelley sighed, feeling frustrated already. She wished she could deny his words so far but they were the truth no matter how painful it was to read.

_Embrace the fact that you had a little brother._

"Damn it Stan, I do now. And- and not long ago…"

_I know that's unlikely to happen but I would have loved for one moment when I was young that solidified the fact that you loved me. I can't think of many of those moments. Isn't that sad?_

Tears were already burning Shelley's eyes and she was never one to get emotional. Again, if she hadn't grown to like her little brother the past two years she might be hating on him right now. Then again, if they hadn't formed some sort of relationship would she even be reading this letter at all? She was seventeen now and she had grown up a lot since she was twelve. Sure Stan had his annoying habits and whatnot but what younger sibling didn't? He was right, she didn't have a real good reason to hate him all this time and now it was making her feel terrible. She wished she could have seen the good person Stan was years ago and not have to have so much guilt raining over her shoulder. They honestly didn't have many great memories together and that _was_ sad. But she also knew Stan died happy, knowing they did become close as time went by. She was sure he'd bring that up sometime soon.

"You stupid little turd… you know I liked having you around now. Don't make this out to be one giant guilt-trip…"

_Does it make you sad to know you had a very unhealthy relationship with your only brother? Again, I'm just pulling shit out of my ass now. It hurts me a lot to think back on my life with you. Whenever I saw a kid getting help from his sister, you were beating me up. Whenever I saw a boy getting a lift from his sister to the drinking fountain you were pushing my face into it. Whenever a boy was kicking around a ball with his sister, you were hitting me over the head with it. Whenever a boy was playing with his sister, you were breaking my toys. Do I need to go on?_

"No," Shelley answered the letter. "I'm sorry okay Stan?"

_It makes me so upset to know I could never go to you for __anything__._

Shelley's stomach bubbled horribly at that honest statement.

_If I hurt myself and could not find Mom I dare not go to you. I had to sit and cry and bleed until Mom was done doing whatever. Whenever I had trouble with homework I could never go to you for tips. I hated learning multiplication, knowing you've been a master at it for four years. More than me. Yet I had to struggle with 5x3 and 12x12. So many times I wanted comfort from you. So many times I cried in bed when Mom was out for the night and Dad couldn't comfort me._

_Shelley, as my older sister your duty was to be a mother figure to me. Your duty was to look out for me. Your duty was to teach me things. Pass down fun tips and tricks only siblings can share. LISTEN to me. Hug me._

At this Shelley felt tears burn her eyes. Really, why had it been so hard to just hug him once in a while? She wasn't a very affectionate person but it was her duty to be this way to her younger sibling.

_It's all there written in the official GUIDE FOR BIG SISTERS TO LITTLE BROTHERS. You must not have read your copy on Oct. 19__th__, 2001._

Shelley glared at his sarcasm.

_I know it's not good to guilt-trip people but you're the exception. I cannot begin to list all the bad stuff you did to me. Breaking my toys. Hiding my toys. Throwing me down the stairs! ! Putting my toothbrush down the toilet so many times. Hitting me. Kicking me. Biting me. Throwing things at me. Hurting me in all sorts of ways. Really. And this is just a preview._

At this Shelley had to stop and rub her itching eyes. By now her pizza was cold and she was hardly touching it. Ice was steadily melting in her cup. She was feeling very indifferent. While some words made her angry, others made her feel guilty as ever. She didn't know which was the proper way to feel. And now he was listing some of the things she did to him on a regular basis. And as Stan put it, it was only a preview. What else did he want to try and guilt-trip her on? How would it make her feel? She kept telling herself they did form a special bond not long ago and knowing her brother he was going to mention that. But Shelley had to take a break and check on their mother.

"Mom?" Shelley poked her head in Sharon's room and found her on her side, asleep, fingers clutched onto something small. Curious Shelley crept over as well to make sure she was at least breathing. She was and upon closer inspection found the item in her hand was a sock. Most likely her brother's. Sharon needed something of his to hold onto so she could have at least a little sleep each night. Tonight it was Stan's sock. Shelley touched her mom's shoulder.

"I'll be down if you need me Mom…"

With a deep breath Shelley went back down. She decided to finish her slice of pizza and down her Pepsi before returning to her letter. With now clean fingers she smoothed it out again, feeling weird and confused all over again.

_Remember when I was 4 and you threw me off of Mom and Dad's bed? I was dizzy and for a while freaked Mom out, she thought I suffered actual head damage. Or how 'bout when I was six and you and Krissa restrained me and gave me a paper cut between every finger? That was one of the worst things you've ever done to me! ! It hurt so much. I couldn't use my hands for hardly anything for over a week due to the band-aids between each finger. The guys ripped on me for this. I'm sure you're laughing about it now but it was horrible._

Shelley sighed and placed a hand to her head. Yes she remembered that day. It was one of her favorite memories a few years ago before Stan was diagnosed with leukemia. Just another boring Sunday afternoon. She and best friend Krissa could not think of anything fun to do so they rested on doing something to torment Stan. That was what usually ended up happening if they had no other options, and luckily both found great entertainment in picking on her little brother. First to get him all to themselves. They had walked into his room and lied and told him they had a special fun game planned with him in Shelley's room. Luckily Stan was still plentiful gullible at age six and it didn't take long for him to comply. Once there Shelley had shut the door and minutes later Krissa had Stan pinned in her arms. She was almost as strong as Shelley was and could easily hold down Stan. And his hands were forced out, fingers spread and SHHRRIIP. The paper sliced between all ten fingers. How Stan howled during that moment. Shelley was still laughing even when he ran downstairs after crying to their mother. It was worth being grounded for two weeks. It was a priceless thing to do and so easy.

It made Shelley's stomach do that weird guilt bubble now at the age of seventeen though. How could she have been so cruel? To take a little boy's delicate and soft hands and cut between his little fingers. Nobody liked paper cuts. They were such tiny things yet always stung like a bitch and pissed you off the rest of the day. She didn't blame Stan at all for calling her out on that. She felt no sense of accomplishment about it now. Back to the letter…

_Or how about when I was seven, and you broke my finger? Remember __that__ Shelley?_

Shelley's eyes went wide. Truth be told she didn't until he mentioned it.

"Oh god, I didn't. Please tell me I didn't actually break your bone. I- I don't think it ever went that far…"

_Remember taking Moo-Moo the cow from me and me chasing you all around and me at your door and you closing it on my hand at __just__ the right moment? Mom couldn't believe you did that either. I mean what kind of big sister breaks her brother's finger Shelley?_

Shelley wanted to defend herself, and probably would now if she could and say it was an accident. But she knew she was evil back then, it very well could have been on purpose the whole time. Either way it wouldn't make a difference now, Stan would still be pissed at her for it.

_How about when I was 8 and you held my head under water in that hotel pool in CA? That fucking terrified me bitch! ! ! You don't hold people under water, especially if they have asthma! I went my whole life with a tight chest and gasping for air- I would have liked those moments to have been because of my asthma, not my sister trying to kill me or something._

Shelley drew in a deep breath. "Shit Stan, you aren't coming on lightly on me so far. I really was as bitchy as you made me out to be hm? I'm sorry about it now bro…"

_Okay, you should have gotten the point by now. Even though we've had our differences I don't want to guilt-trip you anymore._

Shelley was curious; there were still almost two pages left. Surely they weren't filled with love now, what else was there to say but all the bad childhood memories she was responsible for?

_There have been happy memories involving you. Let's get back to my asthma: you were a true big sister when it came to that. You would always get my inhaler or nebulizer if you knew I needed it. You never hid my medicine or made me wait longer to receive treatment. I thank you for that._

At this Shelley smiled. Finally something she could feel okay about.

_I also want to thank you for busting me out of trouble a lot of times from Mom and Dad._

Shelley felt a tiny smile play on her lips as she looked at the letter with sad eyes. "It's what big sisters are for Stan…"

_Every kid is afraid of getting his ass in deep shit at home but there were times you acted as if I were innocent. Remember when I made that big stain from my juice on the carpet and you told Mom you did it? I can still see her face when she looked at you. I could tell she knew who really did it but she never said anything. Also when I got paint on the carpet when I was 5? You said you were the one who did it, even going as far as getting paint on your hands to be more convincing. Thank-you so much for doing these kinds of things Shelley._

_Thanks for giving me __some__ comfort. Thanks for all the hugs and kisses even though they were so few. Those hugs made me feel as if you might have actually liked me._

_Now for the past few years…_

Shelley braced herself before she went on. She drank deep from her Pepsi, wondering how she would come off in the rest of the letter.

_Wow. All I can say is wow. You stepped up and acted like the big sister I've always wanted. Thanks-you so much for the past three years. It warms me so much to think of you caring. Helping me dress when I couldn't. helping me with homework I've fallen behind on. Helping me walk and get in and out of bed when I was too sick to. Asking how I was feeling. And now, driving me to and from Children's when Mom couldn't. _

And these were the words that broke Shelley. She put the letter down angrily as tears fell from her eyes and she shuddered in soft sobs. Reminders. Reminders of all she had indeed done for him. Reminders of just how sick and weak he really was. Visions of Stan lying in that hospital bed, sick and pale and hooked up to so much. It was just a chore at first, something her parents would nag her about all the time. But only when the weeks and months began to go by did she realize how sick Stan really was. That she couldn't hit him anymore because it would bruise his body in an instant. That any normal thing could be dangerous. That he was too sick to even flush the toilet bare-hand. He was sick and hurting and for once she had nothing to do with it. It had always been slightly difficult to see Stan suffer at hands that were not her own. She didn't do anything to have Stan fall ill with leukemia. She couldn't do anything but watch him deteriorate and lose weight and hair quicker than an old man. And it was that realization… that knowing he was so close to death and danger every minute of his life… it was all she could do to place slippers on his feet when he was in too much pain to do so.

_I guess me having a terminal disease was big enough for you to show you cared. I cannot begin to tell you how truly honestly happy I am about all you have done._

Shelley dabbed at her eye and sniffed, not caring any longer she was showing some emotion over her brother.

_It almost makes me not want to die, just so I can experience more of this new bond we have._

Shelley drew in a breath; did he really just write that?

_Even if I ever reached remission I am sure it would still be there._

Shelley shuddered a shaky breath. "It- it would brother, I think it would."

_I really wish my days weren't numbered Shelley. I am really going to miss my 'big sis.'_

Shelley felt her mouth twitch. "And I miss my little brother…"

_I wish we could have started out better and you didn't hate and hurt me just because I was born. Even though we have had a few good years as bro and sis, they were really good ones. Let's both forget our bad years as we go our separate ways. Let's remember all our secret-tellings. Talking late into the night as I told you things not even Kyle knew. You holding my hand as we rode Mind Eraser at Elitch Gardens. You sticking up for me and all the people you hurt because they picked on me. Playing with Chelsea. Watching Friends. Let's both remember __those__ memories instead. Also, you are now going to have to do double work to make our parents proud. But I believe in you._

Shelley smiled sadly.

_I love you so much Shelley. Never lose your hard-ass attitude. It will get you far in life._

The tears fell freely again.

_Thanks for being there for me. I'm willing to forget the past if you are. Please don't destroy my things once I pass. I do love my Batman toys._

At this Shelley laughed.

_Remember, if you ever feel lost anytime in your life, just look for the 'biggest turd in the sky'. He might be able to give you a nod or two._

_Also, you're my sister and I love you!_

_Love your "innocent" little brother,_

_Stan_

_May 8 and 9 2013_

At the bottom of the page were a lame sketch of Stan and Shelley and Stan's cat Chelsea. There were also the words 'Good luck to you and Amir!' and at the very bottom-

_P.S. Try being there for Mom. I think she'll need all the support she can get. And tell her I'll be very happy wherever I go._

Shelley took a good half hour to think about the words she had just read, let her last tears fall, and try to make sense of everything she was feeling. The first thing she couldn't fight was the fact she really did miss her brother. She felt like a part of her needed to hear these words, to know that even through all the shit they had been through he still did love her. But who was she kidding? This was Stan; he had a heart bigger than most boys his age. He never gave up trying to mend their relationship. And now he got what he wanted all along… someone to confined in and look up to and rely on. She only realized just how much she missed her little brother at that point and her heart hurt as memories of their strained sibling-hood flooded her mind. She was horrible. Horrible to him years ago. Now she would want nothing more than to see those big blue eyes of his, looking up at her the way only a little brother _could_. Shelley felt her mind already make plans to visit his final resting place the next day and apologize to it for all she had done.

Her thoughts were shaken loose suddenly when she heard a voice coming from the stairs.

"Sh-Shelley? Shelley?"

It was her mother. Shelley saw Sharon gripping the banister and looking around with wide eyes. Shelley got to her feet as she wiped her wet eye.

"What are you doing up Mom?"

Sharon looked frightful as she had the past week. "I- I need- I need-my- my baby is"-

Shelley was at her side instantly. "Want to talk Mom?"

Sharon was already crying. "I miss him so much"-

Shelley wrapped her arms around her tightly as she cried too. "I know Mom. I do too. I do too. Let's- let's go back up okay?"

"He- he"-

"Shhh, it's going to be okay. He wouldn't want to see you this way Mom. He's- he's happy where he's at, I promise."

Sharon just sobbed more. Leaving the letter and flat Pepsi on the living room table, Shelley went up with her mother, ready for another sleepless night filled with tears and sheer exhaustion. It was all up to her, everyone's happiness… rested on Shelley's shoulders. Time to take Stan's words to heart and be as strong as she could be for everyone. It was the least she could do for him.

_This is one of my personal favorites of the letters. I do hope Shelley didn't appear too out-of-character. She _does_ care in her own way. Again, I hope you as readers don't feel I am milking HTDS for all its worth. I hope you want to see what everyone's final thoughts are as much as ever. Don't forget to leave a review before you leave, thanks. _

_Lots of love: Rose, December 3, 2011_


	3. Kyle's Letter

**KYLE'S LETTER**

The sun rose steadily on the morning of July 28th, 2013. But that wasn't what woke Kyle Broflovski. The sleek black alarm on his bedside table beeped when it hit 8:00 but that's now what woke him either. True, it caused him to move ever-so-slightly but it wasn't enough. What did wake him up was the gentle shaking of his little brother, calling in his ear.

"Kyle… Kyle dude you gotta wake up."

Kyle just turned to his side. Ike sighed.

"You gotta get up man, it's morning. Mom's making breakfast."

Kyle mumbled something before pulling the covers over his head as well. Ike frowned before ripping the covers away. Even though he was only seven he was pretty strong.

"I'm not going to tell you again to get up. Mom wants you up. You have to eat today okay?"

Kyle turned over and stared at Ike with tired and hurt eyes.

"I can't dude."

Ike sighed again. "Just try. Go downstairs and be with us at least. C'mon, I'm getting worried too."

Kyle cast his eyes down. "I'll be down shortly."

Satisfied his brother scampered out. He'd be down, sure, but he had to muster the energy to get out of bed first. And ever since July 13th… there had been very little reason to get out of bed. His days since then consisted of sitting or lying in bed crying, yelling, cursing, kicking things, and not eating. Thoughts of fear, confusion, helplessness, and anger took hold every waking moment. While he was so listless now Kyle's mind never stopped working. His best friend in the entire world had been taken from him and there was no way he could continue on as if it never happened. And it was only a week ago since he was buried and he acquired all of Stan's old toys and such. That crap sat in boxes in Kyle's room now, an eyesore of what he had lost. It really was a lot of effort for him to get up from bed since then.

But Kyle didn't want his mother coming up and mother-henning him so reluctantly he placed his feet on the carpet and made his way down. He could feel the eyes of his family on him when he took his seat.

"Are you going to eat today bubbe?" Sheila asked her son carefully.

Kyle shrugged.

"Well I made your favorite just in case…" she presented him with a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon sprinkled on top and raisins scattered about. Even things like oatmeal had become horrible for all he could think about was how much Stan had hated the food.

Kyle stared at the bowl with half-open eyes. "I don't think I can eat the whole thing Ma."

"Well try bubbe."

"Your mother's right Kyle," Gerald said over his coffee mug. "You need to eat more so you have energy. That's why you're up in your room all day and don't want to come down. It's because you don't have enough food in you to keep you going. You'll feel so much better after you eat well."

His best friend died weeks ago, why would he want to do anything but mourn about it? And even though his mother claimed she 'understood' it didn't stop her from fretting over him. He needed time alone. Time to think. He couldn't be bothered by his family, not now. They didn't understand just how hard this was for him. Friends came and went; it was a part of growing up. Yet Stan and Kyle had been best friends since preschool and beyond. They were supposed to be SBFs their whole lives and reminisce about the good old days when they were in an old folk's home or some shit. That was how it was supposed to be. Stan was never a 'come-and-go' friend. He was supposed to be his forever friend. No, what Kyle was going through was different and no one could possibly tell him they knew how it felt.

Kyle mumbled about going upstairs after he ate half his breakfast, as was tradition by this point. He could feel his mother's eyes on him as he went up but didn't care. Time away from them. From anyone. He shut his door with a heavy sigh as if he just got away from major rule-bending. He stood like this before deciding he'd better shower. Everyone said showers helped clear a foggy mind but not for him. Nothing would be able to clear his head now. He didn't care what people said, he'd be able to fix himself, he just needed time and they weren't giving him any of it. It was a short time in the bathroom. He was in and out, brushed his teeth and peed all under thirty minutes. Now he was sitting on his bed, palms on either side of his head. It was so hard to do anything but think about Stan. Memories flooded his mind every minute, affecting simple everyday tasks. Happy memories when they were five and still very naive and innocent. Memories when they were nine, just before he was diagnosed. Two boys looking for trouble (Stan more than anything). The good memories when Stan _was_ sick. As well as the bad. And those ones that haunted him… that final day. July 13th.

"Fucking bastard," Kyle said dangerously. "Fucking bastard knew he was going to die!" he violently tossed his pillow to the window where it messed up his curtains. He broke down yet again.

Perhaps what was most difficult to him now was the thought Stan knew he was going to die soon. During his burial a week ago his sister confessed to the boys Stan had told her everything. Told her he knew he was a goner. Did he know the exact date of his departure? No, but he knew it was soon. And as he lay weak in that hospital bed after the 4th of July… he knew then he probably wasn't going to come home. And it tore Kyle up inside knowing such a huge secret was being kept from him for who-knew-how-long. They were best friends. Best friends. Why didn't he tell him? Didn't he trust him?

"I hate you so much for not telling me Stan, I hate you," Kyle sobbed as he remained sitting on his bed. He had not been able to look at a picture of Stan since his death. Instead he voiced his opinions to the air as if he could hear. And he hoped he did. He hoped Stan knew just how pissed off he was for not saying anything. "Why? Why didn't you tell me Stan? Do you think I wouldn't keep it a secret if you asked me to? Why did your _sister_ get the honor of knowing? What the fuck were you thinking dude?"

"You just have to respect his wishes," Ike had told him at least twice now. "Obviously there was a reason he didn't tell anyone but his sister. Don't beat yourself over his death even more brother."

Kyle drew in a deep breath and tried to let some of his anger out through it. No, there was no way he was gone. Not Stan. The two would always joke about who would be the first to kick the bucket.

"Well I could fall into diabetic shock and never return," Kyle said one fine day when they were eight.

"True but I could suffer the worst asthma attack yet and the ambulance might not come in time to help," Stan said smartly back.

Kyle smiled. "You'd have to be really stupid to not have an inhaler on you that day dude."

"And you'd be stupid not to check your blood sugar first _too_."

Kyle laughed. "By the sounds of it we both could die at the same time."

"Ah well, better that, that way we don't have to live too long missing each other," Stan had commented back.

It is so weird how something that happened a handful of years ago could seem so distant and in the past now. Yet at the same time it feels as if it happened just last week. Many memories felt that way for Kyle now. So long ago but so in the present. Much of Kyle's anger left with him as he spent hours on his bed, thinking. Sadness and emptiness and confusion were taking over now. He didn't go down for lunch. Nothing to do but look as shadows played on the walls, as the sun made its way around the room. Five hours had passed of Kyle staring off into space. He lay on his bed, hand under his head as his eyes drifted towards the boxes near his desk. All six boxes (and seven tubs of Legos) were filled with all of Stan's toys and games both old and new. A select number was still at the Marsh house for some were too personal to family and he didn't feel right taking them from them. Hell, he didn't feel right having what he had now.

These were links to a happy Stan. A happy little boy who would play all day in his room like any other kid. A boy who happily ran toy cars over his blankets when he was sick in bed. Running cars off his legs that were dubbed 'hills'. Kyle was actually a little shocked by the amount of toys he took back with him. He didn't know Stan owned so much. Then again he received gifts all the time from being sick and in the hospital, he may even have had more than Cartman at the time. Even at the age of twelve Stan's room hardly changed. A few things were added and subtracted but it always remained a kid's room, a room for a ten-year-old even if he was a tween. Kyle had thrown out many of his young childhood relics as the years went by but Stan held on. He simply hated throwing things out, every little thing had a memory and purpose and to put it easily, Stan loved being a kid.

Kyle sighed as he played back moments in his mind when Stan would play with the items in these boxes. He sighed as he placed his hands in his pockets, no reason really. That's when something caught him off-guard; something was in his pocket. He took out what seemed to be an envelope. _Kyle_ was written in green Sharpie on the front. The redhead sat bolt upright when he realized what this was; the letter or whatever Stan's lawyer gave him last week. He must have forgotten about it since it was crammed in his coat. Then again he had several pairs of the same jacket, this one today must have been from that day of his burial and reading of his will.

Was he ready to read? Did it matter? It was here now in his fingers. He had to. Hands shaking he slit the envelope and pulled out three pages, front- to-back. _Super best friend_ was written on the title page. Swallowing thickly, Kyle began to read:

_Well Kyle, it's come to this: the day we have both feared. I don't even know how to start this, it is way too hard to say goodbye to those you know and love. And dude, if ever there was a person I would find difficult to say bye to…_

Tears already pooled in Kyle's eyes as he read words from Stan. Stan. These words came from _him_.

_I don't think I can even __say__ goodbye. _

Kyle let out a sob and he placed a thumb to his forehead to steady himself.

_You have been everything for me the past 9 ½ years. Kyle, I love you so much man. You're fucking amazing._

Kyle tried to smile at this through his sobbing.

_You have been all a guy could want and more in a best friend. I don't know if I can start listing all the reasons you've been the best. Better than the best._

_When we first met in preschool… seems like just yesterday almost. You were this little four-year-old excited to show off how smart you were and I was this shy little 3 ½ year old carrying around my lovey._

Kyle sniffed and blew his nose. "I remember dude…"

_Thank god our moms forced us to say hello. And we hit it off from there. Do you remember I got my famous poofball hat so I could be like you and we could be 'brothers'?_

Kyle laughed. How he remembered how lame they both were…

_Dude, we're closer than brothers. We're stitched at the hip. But seriously Kyle, preschool was awesome because of you. You made school worth coming to. It would have been no fun making fun of Mr. Mackey without you._

_And kindergarten…HAHA, remember when you recited the alphabet too quickly Mrs. Burgman told you you had to slow it down? Remember sitting in the red paint? All 4 of us getting in trouble for cursing on the playground? That lame fieldtrip to a soup factory?_

Kyle was crying from both sadness and laughter as he read these words.

_Ha, remember me being a big baby during our fieldtrip to the dentist?_

Kyle laughed hard at this. "Oh man, oh god I remember dude. Oh my god… that was just yesterday…"

_You getting really annoyed and finally telling me to 'shut up'? Man I don't know what was wrong with me that day. I was fucking insane. Maybe it was Shelley's fault. Maybe she showed me a dead bird or something that morning._

Kyle's lips twitched.

_Kindergarten was fun although I was getting pretty bored with the whole 'waking up at 7:30' thing towards the end. But I have plenty of fun memories with you in my kindergarten book. Does '37! 37!' ring a bell?_

Kyle laughed again at one of their inside jokes.

_I can come up with 1,000,000 more memories with you. Remember me ruining your present on your 5__th__ birthday? Telling you what I got for you then trying to take your new dump truck home. _

_Speaking of me being a baby- remember how upset I was when I was the last one of us to lose his first tooth? Man, some things matter so much to little kids!_

More smiles; Kyle wasn't expecting he'd be doing so much of it considering what he was reading. But this was Stan, his best friend. The only person who could make him laugh unlike anyone else and who had so many memories with. Who he knew two years before his own brother came into the world. Stan was his brother before Ike. And now he was being reminded just how strong their friendship was. He hoped the whole letter was like this, he didn't want Stan to give him another reason to feel depressed again.

_Cartman teasing me about it though, but you being upbeat and told me I'd lose one eventually. _

_I wanna break from reminiscing and tell you all the reasons why you rock:_

_You're smart_

_You're cool_

_You care_

_You listen_

_You take action_

_You're funny_

_You're always there when I need you_

_You don't take crap from people (mainly Cartman)_

_You're brave_

_You're mature_

_You're honest_

_You're helpful_

_You are simply THE BEST._

_This is just scratching the surface. There is no way I could have done half the things you have._

Another pull at the lips. Kyle frowned. "C'mon St-Stan, don't be gay. You- you were just as amazing… oh god…" he rubbed his eyes to steady himself.

_Cartman has pissed me off plenty of times but you were great, taking charge of it. I admit, I've always taken the weak, lame way out of things. (Don't try denying it either dude.)_

Kyle frowned; Stan didn't take the easy way out. Not that he could recall.

_But you stand there and go on about the importance of owning up to your responsibility. You are so brave to stand your ground Kyle. I have never been able to be as open and honest as you. I know you think being smart is a curse but dude, I need to tell you we wouldn't have been able to get out of ½ the shit we've been through if you hadn't used your brain. _

Kyle's lips twitched.

_Just think- would we have gotten out of detention that one time in second grade if you hadn't researched exactly how destroying Mrs. Fooder's bookshelf wasn't __our__ fault? You saved our asses that one day dude. You've also helped me out countless times on homework. You were annoyed by it sometimes, sure, but you always helped._

Kyle sighed. Stan always was useless when it came to homework. He loved waiting until the end on several things, especially social studies. He could always expect the younger boy to ask for help at least once each week. Stan did get good grades but it took a while to get him motivated to get there.

_Thanks man. I wouldn't have passed kindergarten, 1__st__, 2__nd__, 3__rd__, 4__th__, 5__th__, 6__th__, and 7__th__ grade if it weren't for you._

Maybe.

_Sure you can complain I had a lot of talents and interests but __you__ have the brain. With your brain there's no doubt you'll get a college education and go on and become a professor or something and make BANK._

"Oh come on now dude…" Kyle passed off.

_There's hardly a secure future for someone who likes to knit and is an animal activist._

Kyle burst in laugher once again as a tear rolled down his cheek.

_You should be a doctor or something Kyle._

"What?" the redhead frowned.

_You're really smart and like science and math. You're great with people. With your mind you wouldn't stop until you found the cure for something your patient has been looking for. _

Kyle's eyes streamed with tears at these words. A doctor was a tall order and high expectation for anyone.

_Consider it dude. But hey, if you end up a garbage man and love it, fine by me!_

Another chuckle.

_Dude, thanks for always being there for me. I'm sure it wasn't easy listening to this pussy cry about his normal life. But you were there when my first pet fish died. You were there when I expressed my fears of snakes and hospitals. You never laughed when I told you I had just come back from the doctor's office/dentist and threw up on them. You never laughed that I was the last kid to tell time. To get all the multiplication numbers right. When I told you I had saved those birds while all the other kids (Cartman) laughed. When I was too afraid to use the bathroom the first time in preschool so you offered to take me._

Kyle blew his nose on some tissue he had by his desk.

_That was so embarrassing. All the bad and scary dreams I ever had you listened to them. My first attempt at a love song in 2__nd__ grade._

"Ha! Oh my god I remember that shit dude," Kyle smiled. He could see little six-and-a-half year old Stan singing him the song he had written for his crush Wendy Testaburger one lonely Sunday afternoon. Something about her being as sweet as chocolate and as fun as rain. It really was a cute little thing for a little kid to do.

_But most important, all the times I've cried on you ever since I was diagnosed with ALL._

At this Kyle had to pause and draw in a deep breath. He was now going to talk about the one thing he didn't want to hear. Couldn't this just be a nice letter telling of all the good times they had? Why bring up… that. Kyle didn't go back to the letter right away, he was afraid of what he might read even though he had a feeling what he was going to say. Maybe he wrote about why he did not let anyone but his sister know he was dying? Wanting to prove to Stan he was who he said he was, Kyle pressed on.

_Knowing there was nothing you could do to help me. But dude, just being there these last few years has been enough. I'm sure none of this has been easy for you. I don't want to pity myself but it can't've been easy for you to see me go through all I ever hated. But you've been great through it Kyle. You did make all those shots, IVs, blood draws, and other procedures bearable._

Kyle wiped another tear. "No I didn't dude, that was all you. All you Stan."

_Seeing you show up unannounced was always great and even if I was sometimes rude to you, deep down I was always happy you came._

Kyle grinned sadly. So many times he did run in on a very unpleasant Stan Marsh making him wonder if some visits were worth it.

_It was a lot easier sitting in a bed sick, attached to all sorts of shit when you were there to play Uno with. Or the T&P board game. Or watch TV. Or just nothing at all. Also, I want to thank-you for the research you did with ALL. I never really liked hearing what you found but I appreciate you taking your extra time trying to make some sense out of my prognosis. Shit like that makes me know you will be a great doctor dude._

Kyle drew in a shuddered breath as he impatiently wiped at wet eyes. Maybe his best friend had a point…

_Shit man, I feel I can write a book of thanks for all you did related to my cancer. You founded Smiles for Stan. You hated the thought of my family having a sucky summer so you gave us one that was one of the greatest times of my life. But you didn't stop. You held rallies each month ensuring people donated to SFS. You put so much effort into it. Kyle, because of you my family could put gas in the SUV and drive me back and forth, SP to Denver. Because of you my parents were always there for me. Because of you my parents could pay my medical expenses. Because of you my parents could pay rent in the apartment. Because of you they could pay off our house in SP. Could give us birthday and Christmas gifts._

Kyle shook his head as more thanks came.

_Could help us give back to everyone who helped __us__. Because of you, you gave us all a reason to face the battle and give us wiggle room, hope, love, when there was none._

Tears streamed down Kyle's face. "I- I had to Stan. We're- we're brothers."

_I don't know if you realize just how much you've helped us Kyle. There are no words in the dictionary that explains how grateful I am for __everything__ you did. Not only the past few years but since we were 3 ½ and 4. _

Did he really do all Stan said he did?

_You have been the best friend of all friends. Again, I can't speak highly enough of you Kyle Broflovski that won't make me sound gay._

Kyle chuckled.

_I love you so much dude, my 'brother from another mother.'_

"Haha!" Kyle laughed as another tear spilled.

_But I think I should stop now or I'll be writing into my grave. Kyle, you're the best. You're my 'buddy', my 'SBF.' Thank-you for everything. But before I end, could you do something for me?_

"What?" Kyle peered closer the letter.

_Visit my parents regularly._

Not what he was expecting but he read on.

_Just because I'm gone doesn't mean your ties with the Marshes have to end. My mom and dad love you like another son._

Kyle's heart swelled at these words.

_Please be there for them and show them life after death, like you have to me._

Kyle swiped away at his eyes.

_They love you dude. Also, go easy on Cartman, he's cool._

"_What_?"

_I'm his best friend too. Okay, really, I'm done. NEVER lose sight of your goals Kyle, your smarts will lead you places! ! PROMISE!_

_Your SBF,_

_Stan_

_May 13, 14 2013_

At the very end of the letter the words 'I love ya dude' were scrawled.

Kyle sat there for another hour, mind in fog over what he just read. A part of him wanted more, more words. More everything. He still was in denial almost Stan had died at all. His mind was playing tricks with him. _Of course he is gone, you just read a letter from him._ Another voice kept saying _**but he's your best friend. Nobody loses their best friend before he turns 13!**_ But there were boxes of toys lined by his desk. This letter was only to be given should he had died. It must have meant it was real.

There was nothing Kyle could do but waste away in his own grief as the hours swept by. The letter hardly held any peace, he needed Stan. He needed to see him, to know he was okay wherever he was. There were so many things left unfinished. They were supposed to grow up together and grow old. Go to high school. Go to prom. Graduate. Go to the same college. Get married and name each other godfather once they started having kids. They were supposed to take a month-long trip in Europe. So many things left untouched. How could it be they were never going to do this? It didn't make sense and it made Kyle hurt more. If there was no future consisting of these events, there was no future period.

_You'd make a great doctor. Seriously, consider it._

Kyle thought of these words mentioned a couple times in the letter. How much truth could they hold? Would he be able to do it? Did he even want to? Was his love for science and math and determination to find the facts meant for something more? He was only thirteen; he had no idea what he wanted to do when he was older. Did he? How he did enjoy himself as he poured over medical facts all this time. How he did already know so much about leukemia now. To waste that knowledge…

"Shit, I don't know what to do," Kyle whispered as he rubbed itchy eyes. It was now past dinner. Surprisingly his mother had not come up clucking around like a chicken, demanding he eat something. Maybe he should try now. He folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope, not wanting to read another word on it until he was ready again. It didn't offer much hope for him at the moment but there was a glimmer of light in Kyle' future now. Maybe his average friend knew something he didn't. Maybe he knew what Kyle was destined for all along. Promising he'd think about his future in a more upbeat way, Kyle got off his bed and went downstairs. He was smart, he'd find some way of dealing with what had happened; it was just going to require much time and patience.

_Okay, hope it was a good read for you. Again, hope everyone is still interested in this. Please leave a review, thanks so much, and Merry Christmas!_

_Lots of love: Rose, December 20, 2011_


	4. Butters' Letter

**BUTTERS' LETTER**

It was close to dinner time on July 20th and Butters was currently riding in the backseat of the Broflovski's car with Kyle sitting next to him. They had just come from the Marsh's house and picked up all items Stan had left them in his will. Said will reading took place earlier in the late morning and only now did they finish up what Stan wished for them to do. The trunk of the car was filled with many boxes of Stan's old things, all that he had given Kyle. In the middle seat of the car was an opened box with a stuffed owl and DVDs, things Stan wanted Butters to have. Butters looked over to Kyle at that moment and noticed he was looking out the window, probably not taking in the scenery at all.

"Kind- kinda hard to imagine, all the things Stan left for us huh?" the blond boy asked.

Kyle ignored this. Butters sighed and looked out his own window. They were now driving down Krofton Road and Butters' house soon came into view. Butters unbuckled himself, opened the door, and grabbed hold of his box.

"Thanks for driving me around today Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski," he said and walked up the driveway of his house. He opened it and set the box down as soon as he shut the door.

"Butters! Where on earth have you been?" his mother asked coming forward.

"I was at Stan's will-readin' like I said," Butters frowned.

"You told us that was at 10:30! It is now 5:40. What took you so long? Your father needed you home hours ago to clean up the attic!"

"Stan left me some stuff so I had to pick it up."

Linda Stotch's eyes spotted the box on the floor. "Your father isn't going to like this young man."

"Butters! There you are. Where the hell have you been?" Steven Stotch came into view, hands on hips. Butters quickly retold his dad what he was doing the whole day.

"Look at you! You think you can just walk in late without calling and bring home a box of useless junk at the same time?" Steven pointed.

"It's- it's not useless Dad! It's- it's stuff Stan wanted me to have," Butters tried to put on a brave face.

His parents were still glaring at him.

"Well put it in your room and have it stay there. We don't need a mess anywhere else," Linda finally said.

Frowning, Butters walked upstairs with the box heavy with items. He gladly closed his door and placed the box on his bed. He lifted the owl from the pile and a small smile spread on his lips; good ol' Wubzy the Owl. He was a small round owl, blue in color. He had big goggly eyes and his gold beak formed into a smile. The feathers of the toy had a pretty pattern stitched into the cloth-like fabric. Stan had owned the owl since he was six and it was one of his cherished stuffed animals, he never allowed anyone to play with him, especially Butters. From preschool to second grade Stan hardly ever invited Butters over. It wasn't as if he ever hated him, he just had too much fun with his other friends. He would invite him to his birthday parties and showed signs of friendship now and again but it wasn't until third grade did they really open up. And even then it wasn't much. By the time fourth grade rolled around Butters had finally come into the boys' inner circle. So he was played the fool a lot, used as a pawn. But he did still share many happy memories with the boy in the red poof ball hat.

"I treated you horribly and I know it," Stan had told him only weeks ago. "I'm sorry."

Butters could only count how many times he stayed over at Stan's, just the two of them, on both hands the whole time he'd known him. But they always had a fun time. They would always watch Animal Planet together and Butters himself knew one of Stan's secrets. He had uncovered it one rare playdate when they were ten. Stan had invited Butters over one day and the two were in the basement looking for something new to do.

Butters found a chest. "What's in here?"

Stan frowned. "Don't know. You can open it if you want."

Inside were a pile of old clothes and dress-up items. Butters smiled and took out a purple boa. "Why don't we play with these?"

"What? Hell no, that's gay. I think these are my sister's old play clothes."

"Looks like there's a lil' police hat here"- the blond boy took hold of a child's sheriff hat.

"That stuff's old, just put it away"- Stan was blushing.

They kept looking around when something else caught Butters' eye. He took down a box. "Wow, you own a Colorwonder Glowdome?"

"I- what? No I don't." again with the flushed face.

Butters didn't stop, he noticed a whole shelf full of all sorts of Crayola-brand products. Special paper, pens, pencils, boxes of felt, string, feathers, google eyes, pipe cleaners…

"Do you like doin' art projects Stan?"

"I do not. This is all old stuff."

Butters looked at him seriously. "It's okay if you do, I do too."

"Well I know you do, you're gay like that," Stan crossed his arms.

Butters was smiling. "Want to use some of this stuff? The Glowdome looks pretty new to me. I never got one for my birthday."

That day Butters had discovered Stan did art projects all the time, he loved it actually. But the guys weren't really into that kind of stuff and after constantly saying art was lame, Stan pretended to feel the same way. And he did hate art, at least when it was mandatory in school. He loved having free reign in the comfort of his own home. The two boys had taken out all of Stan's Crayola products and used them for hours that afternoon. One of Butters' favorite memories. And he kept his promise; he never did tell anyone Stan loved to color. That there made Butters feel connected to him somewhat.

"Thanks a lot for everything buddy," Butters said quietly as he looked into the box. He had taken the majority of Stan's Animal Planet and other animal-related DVDs and movies. A select few were too important to family. But now he could smile in knowing he had the full collection of Planet Earth, something he had wanted for years. He sighed as he took off the nice jacket he had worn to Stan's will reading that morning. He may not have been best friends with Stan but in a way he felt Stan was his best friend. They got along great and had a lot in common. He was a great, nice guy and Butters missed him terribly already. He felt like no one would be there for him through this terrible time in his life. He knew his parents were out of the picture.

"People die all the time," his father tried telling him days after he found out the news Stan had passed.

"But-but he was real sick. We- we all thought he would make it," Butters had cried.

"That's the thing, he was very sick. Stan was a very sick little boy so it shouldn't be as big a surprise he did…die," Steven spoke.

"But we thought he would _make_ it!"

"We know you're upset right now son but we don't want it to run your life," Linda had said. "If you catch yourself now you won't fall into a depression later on."

Were they really thinking he'd be over his death three days after it had happened? !

"Don't think about it too much honey. It was just his time to go," Linda rubbed her son's back.

"He- he was such a good friend. He actually liked me and I knew he wasn't fakin' like other kids do. He went through so much earlier this year, I kinda thought by July, all that bad stuff would be over and he'd get better again. And now he's gone…"

His one true friend was gone. Kyle was kind to him too but he didn't share a lot with him. Stan was something special. He liked everyone. He even liked Eric Cartman!

"And you liked me…" Butters signed. He didn't think he'd ever feel as alone and misunderstood now. He was truly in for a rough time in eight grade and high school now…

But no, he had to do what he came up here to do (beside get away from his parents). He took out what was poking at his leg in his pants pocket, an envelope with L. Butters written in blue sharpie. Stan's lawyer had passed it to him and it was from Stan. It had to be a letter or something. He wanted to know what Stan had wanted to tell him so gathering some tissue ready since he was sure he was going to need it, he opened it.

_Butters_ was on the title line. It was a letter all right, one page, front-to-back. He was sure Stan would want him to read it as soon as he could so he began.

_Hey dude. Are you surprised you got your own letter too? Well you are one of my good friends and hang with us. Anyway, if you are reading this that means I have unfortunately gone on…_

_I just wanted to take this time to tell you I did really like having you for a friend._

A small smile spread on Butters' face. "R-really Stan?"

_Yeah you were lame but in the end, I had fun with you around. You're that 'go with the flow' kind of guy and every group needs one. You were an open, honest, reliable person._

"Aww, geez thanks Stan…"

_I could always count on you in some way or another. I loved when we went to the park and played with our cars and trucks in the sand. I also really loved that you were really into Legos like me._

Butters smiled as he recalled these things, each a connection to the friend he had just lost. Someone who was making him feel _needed_.

_That made us 'click' Butters so that was cool. Also, even better, you were/are a big fan of animals like me. That meant a lot to me dude. Sure you couldn't help me on some occasions but others, you were all for it. Remember rescuing those two hamsters when we were 8? None of the other guys wanted any part of it. _

Butters shifted in his seat. "I remember Stan…"

_Or Mrs. Cleverman giving us each $50 for finding her lost cat? Again, the others said 'fuck that' but since only you and I helped search for Mr. Bubbles we shared $100! The look on the guys' faces. Oh, and you were a big help when we decided to save all those veal cows when we were 8. In short, you've done a lot for me Butters and I'm glad._

Butters sniffed and blew his nose. He didn't take to praise very often, it felt a little weird to be told of all the wonderful things he had done under twenty minutes when he didn't get that amount from his parents in a week.

_I wanted to apologize though for how we've treated you over the years. The teasing and backstabbing. The blaming and shoving you away. I can't speak on behalf of the others but __I'm__ sorry. I'm sorry if you felt used Butters. You didn't deserve it because you __are__ a good kid and a good friend._

The twelve-year-old blond boy let out a sob then. No one, no one ever apologized to him ever. He was made to think everything was his fault in some way even when he couldn't remember having anything to do with it. He didn't want to believe Stan's words because again, he wasn't used to them. All he was used to was being told one fantastic thing only to have it turn out to be something horrible the next minute. How could he trust these sloppy words on this paper were true and that Stan wasn't just pulling another trick? That Eric wouldn't come up to him first chance and go 'Ha! I knew you'd fall for that letter!' Butters wanted to believe with all his heart these words were honest and sincere. Stan was a good kid; he wouldn't pull his leg, not now.

_I admit, it has been fun and there were good times blaming you, but in general I feel bad thinking about it now. We were both two little kids in preschool but even by then we treated you poorly. I'm sorry dude. But we have gotten closer over the years. Thank-you so much for visiting me in the hospital so often. Really made me think of you as a friend._

"Friend…" Butters sighed.

_I was actually quite surprised by all the single visits. But you simply stood there with a smile and said 'I wanted to see how you were doin' Stan' with that infamous smile of yours. So genuine. So honest. I loved it. I loved knowing how much you cared about me (without sounding too gay)._

Butters giggled.

_Kyle and everyone usually wanted something from me or to update me on things back home. All you wanted from me was to hear I was doing okay. So thanks for the honesty Butters. Again, there's one in every group and you are a part of our group dude._

Butters heart swelled at the words.

_How can you not be? I also liked how calm you always were. Nothing bothered you, and I'm the kind of guy who doesn't deal well with people who get too angry or anything. So thank-you for being level-headed like me. I better close now though. I just wanted to thank you for everything and just being you. Don't let Cartman or others discourage you dude. Stand for what you believe in like I did. For me okay? There is a great future for a bright, happy kid such as yourself Butters. Just reach for it! Don't forget to keep in touch with everyone to keep my legacy alive. And joining any animal rights groups wouldn't hurt either. I'm going to miss your smile and easy-going attitude and bright bright hair! :-) Thanks for being a true friend man._

_your friend, _

_Stan_

_May 28__th__, 2013_

Next to this were the words_ GOOD LUCK WITH LIFE BUTTERS!_

Butters sat on his bed in silence for the good part of an hour, thinking about everything that had just happened. It was kind of spooky knowing Stan had written this only two months ago, when he knew he was going to die. That part still haunted him. According to Shelley Stan knew he was probably going to go sometime this year. To know you may die at any time… Butters didn't think he'd be able to handle such information if he were in his once spirited friend's shoes.

Friend. Stan had called him his friend. He had a place in the foursome after all. He wasn't just some kid to blame or play mind tricks with. He actually truly cared about him and liked having him as a friend. Butters never felt more wanted and appreciated in all his life. His life wasn't as horrible as he liked to think it was.

He jumped when his door suddenly flew open and his mother stood there, hands on her hips.

"Butters are you deaf? Dinner has been ready for an hour!"

"So-sorry Mom, I wasn't really in the mood to eat…"

Linda frowned. "Well you need to. We keep telling you, the more you stay in your room and lament the sicker you're going to get. And no way will your father want to take you to the hospital for something you could have prevented in the first place."

Butters just looked down.

"And what are you going to do with that junk your friend left? If you plan on placing them in the DVD tower you know you're going to have to re-alphabetize it if you add in those new ones."

"I know Mom," Butters said flatly.

"And you still need to help clean up the attic!"

"Damn-damnit Mom will you just leave me be right now?" the words had escaped before he even realized they had. Linda Stotch stood there, mouth open in a silent 'O'. "Now- now can't you see I just lost a good friend of mine? If not my best friend? I know I don't really get close to other kids in school but Stan was different. He actually did like havin' me around and we shared interests! And now he's dead and gone and you won't just let me grieve on my own about it. Well- well I've had it- I'm going to be sad for as long as I want and nothing you or Dad say will change it." Butters felt the heat in his face rise like he never felt it burn before. He was going to be in double Dutch trouble now and he knew it.

Finally-

"Butters, just wait until your father finds out how you just disrespected me! Consider yourself grounded mister! For a very long time!" with that she slammed the door behind her.

Butters could feel his body turn to liquid as he melted onto his bed. For some odd reason he didn't seem that upset he did what he just did. It was something that felt long-overdue actually. Sure he had only read Stan's letter an hour ago but a part of him already felt influenced by his words. He could stand up for himself if he really wanted. It's what his friend had asked and would have wanted to see done. Maybe, just maybe Butters had just made the first step for the rest of his future. One that consisted of him doing what he wanted and not caring what others thought. It was a long shot, but that glimmer of hope was enough to form a smile on the boy's face as he waited for his parents to storm into his bedroom yet again.

_That was a nice one to write. It wasn't very long but for some reason took a little while to produce. Hope you liked, stick around for the next one. Review please! Thanks a ton._

_lots of love: Rose, January 18, 2012_


	5. Kenny's Letter

**KENNY'S LETTER**

The sound of yelling was the usual alarm clock for Kenny. He sighed as he laid in bed for a few minutes as his parents fought about who-knew-what in the living room. From the sounds of it they were yelling about who drank the last beer. He hoped his sister was okay for he knew she had the unlucky end of it having her room be in the garage right off the living room. He could only assume she would be coming into his at any moment wanting to get away from their parents. He could just see her walking across the living room unnoticed by their mother and father and sneaking into-

"Hey sis," Kenny said softly as his door opened and nine-year-old Karen stepped in.

"Okay if I stay with you for a while?"

"Of course."

Karen hopped onto the old lumpy mattress and clutched a favorite doll of hers.

"Dad's blaming Mom for taking the last beer," she said.

"Sounds like it. Don't listen to it Karen, they're idiots."

His little sister frowned. "Maybe but they're still our parents."

Kenny sighed and rubbed his eyes. "It hardly matters. Either you have a great relationship with your kids or you don't. In a few years you'll start to not care anymore too."

Just then there was a crash and more shouting.

"You broke the one good glass this family has you jerk!" Carol screamed.

'Maybe next time you'll think twice before drinking something I stole from the Andersons!"

Kenny had had it. He got out of bed and began looking for his shoes. "Let's get out of here Karen."

She watched as he found his black shoes and tightened his hood over his face more.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere away from here."

"But I need to change out of my pajamas."

Kenny went into his one-door closet and took out an old jacket and put it around her; he did not want to cross paths with his parents at the moment helping Karen find clothes in the garage. She thankfully already had her shoes on and together the two split from the house. They walked a little while not saying anything before reaching an old favorite hangout of Kenny and his friends, East Snowy Hill Park. Kenny took a seat on a bench and surprisingly so did Karen.

"You don't want to go on the swings or something?" he asked.

"No. I can sense you're troubled so I don't want to leave you."

Kenny had to chuckle. "Me troubled? I've been through too much shit to be bothered by anything. You're the one who still hates it when Mom and Dad fight and break things."

Karen studied her older brother's face, well, his eyes anyway.

"How was it yesterday?"

"Huh?"

"You went to hear Stan's will reading thing yesterday right? How was it?"

Kenny sighed. "Shocking." He looked left and right before unzipping his coat and reaching into a pocket within the clothing. He pulled out a wad of bills.

"Wow! I've never seen so much money," his sister gasped.

"He left me and the family $282."

Karen was speechless.

"That- and this"- Kenny pulled out an envelope with his name written on it. "I haven't opened it yet though."

Karen swallowed. "What- what are you going to do with the money? Do Mom and Dad know?"

"Yeah right. Only you and I know about it now and I want to keep it that way. I don't know what I'm going to do with it. It's a lot, more than I've ever had in my hands but at the same time not a lot at all. I have to be careful with it and not spend it all at once because who knows the next time I'm ever going to see two-hundred bucks again."

Karen nodded.

"I really want to go buy my first beer but Stan specifically stated in the will to not do that. We'll see."

Kenny always found it easiest to talk to his sister; she was the only one who seemed to generally care about him and he felt like her protector and it was his duty to look out for her. If they didn't have a good relationship there was no point being brother and sister. Karen was again studying him.

"Do you miss him?" she asked quietly.

Kenny sighed. "Yeah, a bit."

"I don't have a lot of memories with him but I know he was a good person. His funeral was really sad."

Kenny could only nod.

"I wish kids couldn't get sick like that. It's so sad. I don't know what God or whoever up there is thinking, making kids really sick. Stan was only twelve."

Kenny stayed silent. Stan's death still made him feel weird; he almost didn't know what to think of it. He had spent all the past two weeks being the shoulder for Kyle and occasionally Butters to cry on. Kenny himself didn't cry often if at all. As he mentioned, he had seen too much for anything to really upset him. He still hadn't cried his eyes over Stan's recent death yet, all he knew was it made him incredibly angry such a good person was taken far too early in life. What a waste of life Stan's soul was, he was so sweet, caring, smart, talented, fun… he had his future lined up almost. Why have such a great kid walk this earth if all those things were to die twelve years later? It wasn't fair, it didn't make any sense.

The two were silent for a while now, each lost in his and her own thoughts. Karen finally turned to her brother.

"What's in the envelope?"

Kenny looked down at the thing he didn't realize was still in his hand. "Oh. A letter. I didn't read it yet though."

"Why don't you read it now?"

Kenny looked shocked. "What? To you?"

"Not if it's too personal. I was just thinking now might be a good time since we're not home, it's up to you."

Kenny scanned it. He really wasn't one to keep secrets or care much at all. Sure it was over a year since the guys found out he was poor when they were little but as of now he felt like nothing could hold back on his life. He was sure Stan would mention some things Karen shouldn't know but on the other hand she already knew so much and it was no use protecting a kid. Plus the letter was short, just a page long. What was the worst that could happen?

"Sure, let's read it together."

Kenny was written on the title line of course. He read the first line.

"'Ha, hey dude. I'm writing a 'final letter' to everyone and now it's your turn.'"

Karen smiled.

"'Dude, I had a feeling when we all became friends with you back in preschool nothing would ever be the same again. (What is normal anyway?)'"

Karen laughed.

"'After my fourth birthday party, dude… you may not think you mattered much in my life but you have made it what it is. You introduced curse words to us. You shared your wisdom on sex and girls on us.'" Kenny's eyes were wide as he looked at his sister.

"I'm not surprised," she passed off. "Just look at the stuff in your room. Keep reading!"

Kenny cleared his throat. "'You were the brave and daring one of us. You have always been the cool one Kenny. Every group needs the guy who is willing to do anything, then do it again. I could never do half the things I've seen you do. You kept life interesting from day one.'" Kenny smiled. "Wow, seems like I did a lot already I didn't know."

Karen nodded and pushed him to go on.

"'What's life without being daring now and again? So thanks for packing a punch and having some balls dude. But with that you can also be really caring and that's cool too.'"

Karen smiled as she placed her head on her brother's shoulder.

"'Man, you were everything Kenny.'" He paused with the words that came on the next line. "'About your deaths…'" He looked to Karen again.

Karen looked down. "I know you die brother. I don't know how but I know you disappear then reappear for no reason. I've… known for a while now. I've just been too scared to say anything."

"I don't know if I should read this aloud then."

"You don't have to, it's your letter. But I'm pretty sure whatever he said are things I already know."

Kenny decided to gamble with this and read from his mouth. "'Really dude, I can't remember them. I do believe you when you say you have died before. I do recall some pretty graphic things but that's it. I admit… I have had some scary crazy dreams about you dying before. Maybe they were your actual deaths. I'm not sure if it makes you feel any better, me telling you this. Guess I will have my time shortly.'"

Kenny sighed as he leaned into the bench. The first real roadblock in Stan's words. It sickened him knowing he was feeling like this. Kenny was the only one who knew what it was like to die and know you were about to die. One of the ways he went before was by a muscular disease when he was eight. He knew what it felt like to be in the hospital hooked up to all sorts of things that were supposedly keeping you alive but in reality; he knew he was going to die soon no matter what. It was the only time Kenny had died from a disease and he wasn't keen on having it happen again. It had been a slow and painful way to go and as he thought about it…

A tear formed in the blonde's eye. Stan was in so much pain those past two and a half years. More so than he was for he had the fear of needles and hatred of hospitals. Stan was weary of adults and took a lot of convincing on their part to show him they were a good person. Stan was dying and unlike Kenny, couldn't come back once he went. To be shot was painful but it was a lot quicker to die that way than to have a disease slowly weaken your whole body. Kenny could feel Karen's eye on him so he decided to continue reading.

"'You say you've been to heaven and hell and in-between. Let's see where I end up… who knows, maybe you'll get to see me up there.'" Kenny frowned before continuing. "'Maybe not. Eternal peace is different for everyone. Maybe I will never see you after I pass. But the thought is kind of comforting right? Anyway… I want to tell you- please try to refrain from becoming some homeless crack addict when you're 20 okay?'"

Karen looked up at her brother's blue eyes. She knew what he must be thinking so she didn't say anything, he was close to the end of the letter.

"'I know you dude, you're going to be the first one to drink and smoke regularly.'" Kenny glared at the letter now. "What the fuck? Does he really think that low of me?"

"Read the next bit, it's not as bad," Karen pointed out.

Kenny grumbled before doing so. "'It's cool, as long as you don't make a living out of it.'" Hardly any better, Stan still thought he was going to break all the rules. Who was he kidding? With the parents he had and his brother already stealing beer the chances were pretty high. He'd want to find some way to break away from the stress as he got older, there was only so much ignoring he could take. He sniffed and returned to the words in front of him. "'Just because you're poor and have crummy parents doesn't mean you're doomed for life. You so can make a life for yourself, people do it every day no matter what their life is like. I'm rooting for you dude. Try to do me proud. That's all I really have to say. Thanks for being a cool friend and MAKE A LIFE FOR YOURSELF. Your friend, Stan. June 3rd, 2013.' Oh wow…"

Karen had tears in her eyes as her brother held onto the letter. She rubbed his arm.

"See? You- you don't have to be doomed forever. Stan believes in you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Karen glared. "I don't want to hear that tone Kenny. You're my brother, the person I look up to. The person I like most in the family. I may not have known Stan like you have but I know he was a very honest person. He just wants the best of you."

Kenny sat up straight. "I know. I'm not going to disappoint him. I just- I don't know what to think. I'm confused."

Karen sat silent.

"I just don't get it. This really great guy had to die way before he was ready. He could pretend all he wanted how he knew it was going to happen but it doesn't make it right. Stan was such a good person. A great friend. His future was so promising you know? Out of all of us beside Kyle of course we knew Stan was going to be successful. Whether it be he ran his own zoo or tiger rescues center. If he joined a band or opened a fucking knitting shop, he was going to make it work _because it was who he was_. It's- it's such a waste of life. Why have such a talented person walk this earth who was so full of promise and have him die when he was twelve? I don't get it."

This was the most Karen had ever really seen her older brother talk. He never was one to open up because he hardly cared about many things. He hated his home life and didn't get the best grades or had any hobbies beside burning things. He kept all the real feelings locked under that orange hood of his. Now just a sliver was being exposed.

Kenny sighed as he rubbed stinging eyes. Perhaps getting over Stan's death would be harder than he thought. He thought he had death all figured out but when he thought about it he had never had anyone close to him die before. Add in the obvious sorrow he knew the other guys were dealing with now, Kenny had to be strong for them too. He was afraid Kyle would do something stupid and who knew, might end up being the first one of the group to slip into drugs and alcohol. Time to pick up the pieces.

Kenny put the letter back in his pocket and got to his feet. "What- what do you say to a nice steak dinner tonight Karen?"

Karen's eyes lit up. "What- but how-?"

Kenny pulled out his wad of bills. "Stan's treat." She frowned. "Come on, what better way to spend thirty bucks? You deserve a nice dinner for once. We both do. Come on, let's check out the town and find the best pick."

Karen shrugged and followed her brother out the park. Kenny knew already he had to be strong for those around him. Be the bigger man to his friends and be a role model to his sister. For some crazy reason Stan believed he had it in him, and who was to say he was delirious while writing it? He hoped he wouldn't be a screw-up, and if so, he hoped there was a chance he'd meet Stan in the afterlife one of the next times he died and have time to apologize for all the stupid things he had done.

_Sorry for the late chapter. I've had laptop issues. They seem to be resolved for now although my internet dies on me now and again. I hoped you liked the Kenny and Karen dynamic. I honestly had no idea it was going to go this way but when started, it felt right. I don't know if I had Kenny speak too much or not. I'd like to think in this situation he would do so just a bit. Stay tuned for the next letter and tell me what you think._

_Lots of love: Rose, February 7, 2012_


	6. Cartman's Letter

**CARTMAN'S LETTER**

One month. One long stinking month had gone by and each day that had passed Cartman felt like he had gotten beaten by a hammer. Thirty days exactly since Stan had been buried yet the memories were as fresh as it could be for anyone. He tried so hard to deny he was saddened by the events. Tried so damn hard to forget it and shrug it off but for some reasons memories of Stan both good and bad flooded his mind every hour of every day. It sickened him and he wanted it to stop. He never cared this much when Kenny had died, then again there was always that thought he would be coming back soon. Cartman never showed he cared about anyone but himself and on occasion his mother and Mr. Kitty. His friends were way out of the picture; he hardly considered them friends since he got on horribly with them.

Not Stan though. Ever since they were four he had treated him better than the rest. He considered Kenny his 'go-to friend' simply because Stan was already taken by Kyle. But Stan was always nicer to him than anyone, he liked to play with him and found a lot of his jokes funny. He would stick up for him once in a while when the Jew shot down something Cartman said. Stan was in ways more of a friend than Kenny and as each day went by the large boy was reminded of the relationship he had indeed lost.

Life had not gotten any easier for Cartman once Stan died in July. For a short while he had been feeling different than other boys in his class and to this day didn't really know what they meant. He was never the one who really paid much attention to the girls in class, they were all bitches anyway. He had his few crushes but those girls he did have his eyes on hated his guts. He had only tried talking to one girl in Jr. High during PE only to be shot down.

"What the fuck? You'd rather go with Mike Gordson? He's a fat piece of shit too!" he cried. Why did Kenny and so many other boys make dating look easy?

"At least he _tries_ to lose the weight, and it shows. You do nothing but sit on your huge ass each day and do nothing," the girl crossed her arms.

"Hey bitch, I would lose the weight if I wanted to!"

"_And_ he's not a raciest idiot. So stop talking to me you creep."

It made Cartman feel silly now; it was just another stupid bitch, why had he wasted his time? Girls sucked anyway, too high maintenance. But boys… this is what confused him. For some odd reason he had found himself checking out the occasional boy here and there for a few months now. He didn't even realize he was doing it! And he didn't feel anything for any of them, but he did wish he knew why he thought Jesse Craver had great hair. The homosexual thoughts did not let up and it was making him more angry and confused than ever before. And that's where it landed him that cold day, August 19th.

Cartman slowly opened the door to his house, wincing as he shut it behind him. Liane Cartman came down the stairs upon hearing her son's arrival; she gasped at what she saw.

"Eric! What happened?" she came running forward but he shook her off. He was covered in scrapes and bruises and his shirt was ripped. A trail of blood ran from his nose.

"Back off Mom, it's none of your business," he said roughly.

"But Eric, you're covered in bruises and are bleeding. Tell me what happened."

"Nothing did okay? Just leave me the fuck alone woman!" he had been extremely short with everyone. He went up to his room and slammed his bedroom door. Those fucking idiots. All he wanted to do was eat his ice cream cone at the park and before he knew it a few of Craig Tucker's friends jumped him. He had met other assholes like him in Jr. High and they liked picking on the weird ones. Cartman had been sitting on one of the benches at the park and before he knew it, one of the boys, Chris Young came charging his way.

"What the fuck is your problem tubbo?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Cartman glared.

"Why the fuck were you looking at me like that?"

"Like what? What the fuck are you talking about you piece of trash?"

The other boys had come over now.

"I saw it too Chris, I saw his eyes. He wants to fuck you in the asshole," smirked the other boy, Morton.

Chris had grabbed Cartman's shirt. "Is that true fatass? You wanna fuck me? We all know how you look at boys. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I wasn't doing anything you asses," Cartman smacked the hand away. Really, he couldn't remember staring at Chris. Was he? He did have a nice frame and nice eyes even if he treated others like shit. Before he knew it a fight had broken out; Craig, Chris, and Morton started throwing punches and calling him a sick fat homo. And he was left to walk home bruised and bloody. He hated it so much. He wasn't gay, he wasn't. He knew he liked girls too, he knew he was still attracted to plenty even if they would never go for him. Why was his brain doing this to him? He wasn't gay, why did it get him into trouble like this? It had been the first time he had been attacked by others about it. Since the stronger of the feelings occurred only a couple months ago, school had just ended so he didn't really see many boys. He hardly left his room. Now he didn't want to leave his house period, things like this were only bound to happen again.

Cartman sank on his bed, fingers itching to punch something. Maybe a punching bag would make for a good Christmas present that year. Suddenly a very soft 'mew' was heard and a furry head with pointed ears poked out from under his bed. The tabby hopped on his bed and rubbed against his hand once. Cartman sighed and regretfully stroked Chelsea the cat. His good friend Stan had given him her after he had died a month ago. Cartman still hated the fact he was now in charge of the animal; he had his own cat Mr. Kitty. Something like looking out for what his best friend said was 'the most important thing in my life' was a huge responsibility that he didn't want.

"What do you want?" the fat boy grumbled to the cat. She just rubbed against him again. It had been extremely difficult to keep this cat the past month. Every time Cartman looked into her blue eyes he saw Stan's. He almost felt like the boy was living through his cat but that was silly, she was her own separate thing and had her own soul, no way could Stan's live on inside her. But he always felt Stan was watching him whenever the cat was. Looking at him, judging him if he wanted to do something stupid. Sleeping on him during those nights when the pain and frustration were too much to handle. Chelsea was a constant reminder of what he had lost, the reason behind most of his pain.

He didn't want to pretend any longer, he missed Stan. He was a good person to have as a friend. Always listened to him even if what he was saying was ridiculous. So many times in the past Cartman would say something and Stan would believe. So many fantastic childhood memories of playing pirates, Space Rangers, Star Wars, wild animals, detectives, laundry mat owners, and anything else that came to mind. The pair of them had gotten a lot closer the past couple years though and Cartman assumed Stan's illness made him see just what a great kid he was. Just like Shelley, who started to become nicer to her brother, they never saw just how special Stan was.

And this is where more anger surged. Cartman found he really enjoyed the times spent with Stan; he was his best friend the past two years. They did get along great. And as time went by Cartman couldn't help but record how his eyes changed. From deep blue full of mystery to being masked by glasses, to finally a dull blue-gray. He always had such nice eyes that held all his emotions. And as Cartman began questioning his sexuality, he began thinking of Stan in ways he hadn't before. From his beautiful eyes to his boyish grin. His trouble-making streak to his super-sweet side. His big heart and great sense of humor. Why didn't he notice these before? Each day since Stan's funeral Cartman had played the song 'Into the Ocean' by Blue October and couldn't help but grasp his chest for it reminded him of what he had lost. Stan. But he didn't like boys, Stan was such a perfect person his brain was trying to convince him he could have been a potential lover. It made no sense.

He was not gay, he was not. He was just at an age when kids began finding out about their sexual preferences, nothing else. He was sure other boys were just as confused as him. Going into those teenage years his brain was just learning all it could and prepping him for the real world, giving false thoughts so when the time came he really knew what he wanted. And it just so happened to be that Stan was the perfect vessel for those feelings. Like anything would ever happen between him and that hippie if he were still alive? It made him chuckle. He was just his cool friend Stan. Cartman then frowned when he saw Chelsea bolt from his bed and run to his desk. She did that usual cat-shaking thing before leaping up on it. She began to meow.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, walking to her. She mewed again and pawed at the lower drawer. "What? There's nothing for you in there, stupid cat." Again she pawed before letting out another meow and finally sitting poised, staring at him. Cartman really wished cats didn't stare the way they did, it was kind of creepy. Knowing he didn't have anything better to do he went to open it like she seemed to want him to. A small pile of papers and whatnot sat inside. He set down the first few. "What?" he asked again. Chelsea blinked slowly before looking at the letters and looking back at him. Only then did Cartman seem to know what she wanted- the beige corner of an envelope sticking out.

Eric C. was written on top. It was a letter from Stan, written to him before he had died. He had never been able to read it, it was simply asking too much. He was afraid of what it held. Words of why he was such an ass? Wouldn't surprise him but he wished it wasn't. Words of how cool he was? Well, as nice as that would be it would be really gay and Cartman did not want to feel any more of those confusing feelings. But Chelsea seemed to want to know what it was and perhaps now was the best time to read. Either way he wouldn't like how he'd feel after. Cartman took a seat on his bed and after a minute Chelsea followed.

"Let's see what- what your lame owner wrote hm?" he said softly. Chelsea just sat and stared.

_Cartman-_

_Hey dude. I've decided to write everyone a letter, so laugh all you want._

Cartman didn't smile.

_Anyway, if you are reading this that means I have died. Either that or you've gone rummaging through my stuff or something._

Cartman grinned at this.

_Look, I was going to write you a letter even if we didn't bond the past few years. But since we did this letter will actually be quite positive._

That weird happy feeling crept up Cartman's throat.

_I want to thank you for being my 'bro' all these years Cartman. But I want to get out the bad stuff before the good stuff so bear with me…_

_Look, you're a fat, racist, spoiled, evil, horrible person and you know it._

"Ay!" Cartman cried out. "That little prick! What the fuck is he thinking saying that? Fuck you Stan!"

_I have no idea why you are the way you are. Maybe it is all because your mom refuses to discipline you and be a mother, rather than your best friend. But I feel you were doomed from birth._

This really wasn't a great start so far and Cartman debated if it were even worth it to continue. But those sharp eyes of Chelsea made him go on for again; it felt as if Stan were looking out through her.

_Sure, you responded well for a short while when that Dog Whisperer guy showed up. But I had a feeling it wouldn't last. I wanted it to- I told Kyle I thought you changed for the good, but I had my misgivings. Look, this isn't about your behavior. Just you in general. It really pissed me off, seeing you degrade women the way you did. My dad already belittles my mom, and I know women are a lot smarter and stronger than ego-tastic men like to think they are. _

Cartman frowned. It made sense in principal but it didn't change his thoughts at that moment. Men and women were stupid. He was just too used to women to bring them down. Nothing but slutty bitches.

_You owe your mother a huge apology dude._

"_What_?" Cartman's mouth was open. What in the _hell_ did he just say?

_This woman gave birth to you. Fed (overfed) you, cleaned you, bathed you, took care of you when you were sick, got you out of trouble, bought you shit… I hope one day you give her the respect she deserves._

Cartman huffed and rolled his eyes; his mother didn't need him to say that stuff. He hated how Stan became more mature as time went on and he respected his own mother a lot more. Easy for him really, Mrs. Marsh wasn't some skank who had sex with anyone she could. Kids never gave a shit about their mothers, right?

_Racist thing… well, everyone's a little racist somehow or another. But dude, you're just evil. The way you only think of yourself no matter what the situation…I still can't believe our first encounter with each other in preschool involved you taking Ruffy from me and taunting me with him till I cried. But you became cool during my 4__th__ birthday._

Cartman smirked.

_But I hate so much how you would rather sit on your ass eating chips instead of helping a person in need. Greed's gonna catch up to you one day dude if you don't stop it._

Cartman growled. The stupid hippie. Did he really have nothing better to do as he laid dying in the hospital than to write out all his flaws on paper to him? Did he do it to everyone else too? With each new thing he read he felt another poke of a pin inside him, as if his gut were a balloon. Maybe Stan wasn't a great as he thought. Maybe there would have been no potential lover inside him, would either of them turn gay. All those feelings just an hour ago were dwindling fast.

_You're fucking scary dude. You wanted to kill your own mother? ! WTF dude! ! Seriously? Shit like that makes me fear for your future. Something I can never forgive you about- not giving Kyle a kidney willingly._

"Oh come on now dude…" Cartman rolled his eyes.

_Make fun of him for being a ginger Jew all you want but he could have fucking __died__ if I hadn't stepped in! I had to do and sacrifice a lot to save him and all you could do was watch him wither away. FUCK YOU CARTMAN. He's alive because of ME, not you._

That stung deeply. Cartman had to take a breather now. He really wished he didn't care so much about what Stan was saying. It was stuff he already knew. Stuff he told him plenty of times in the past. Why should it matter now? Stan was just some emotional little douchebag; of course he'd get upset like this about stuff. Cartman didn't see anything wrong with letting Kyle die. If he didn't want to give him a kidney then he shouldn't have had to! It was his and not something anyone would just give out like candy. Especially to someone they already hated. Stan was an idiot to believe he would have gladly allow Kyle to get a kidney from him. So then why was he upset at Stan's response to it? Why was he realizing he didn't want to make the hippie angry with him?

_Fuck you for telling me Sparky had died that one time too. Fuck you for throwing a rock at a bird! Fuck you for telling on me all those times. Fuck you for pushing me in that muddy puddle that one rainy day years ago. So many other F-you's but what's the point? Like I said, you're horrible and you know it. Maybe sincere words from me might clear up your act. I always did give you the benefit of a doubt. Go ahead, wow me. I guess I can get to the good stuff now…_

Cartman was smiling. He always loved how Stan did believe him a lot of the time about something no matter how far-fetched it seemed to be. And here he was, now passed on, waiting to see if it would be worth it. The fat boy found himself whispering to himself 'it will be worth it dude. Trust me.'

_It's not as if I was ever forced to root for you or take your side. Sometimes Kyle did fall short so I had to go with you. (He can be a bit of a wet blanket)._

Cartman's beamed that Stan admitted what he thought all along.

_Taking the fun out of that Sea People thing. You never know, it could have worked (and it kinda did). Accusing you of doing that J-Lo thing with your hand. HELLO. Weird things happen in South Park all the time Kyle!_

"Duh! Stupid Jew."

_When you told Mrs. Burnum you didn't force Jake to eat the paste. I knew you were telling the truth! There's a lot of moments like that. But in general, I try to see the good in people and see how things __could__ be. The world isn't all black and white. Also, you can be funny dude. Again, I didn't give a fuck if it bothered Kyle, you made me laugh._

"_You're_ welcome Marsh," Cartman grinned. Chelsea rubbed against his knuckles.

_You always found fun and creative ways to make me laugh. You doing weird sounds or whatever during my fourth birthday party was what made us friends in the first place! So thanks for all the cool ways you got me to smile dude. We actually had some great times together Cartman. There were a few great playdates with just you and me. We played video games together a lot. We can't forget how cool it was playing on 'Roy's' boat before we crashed it and flooded Beaverton. Remember playing 'knights' on the playground? How about 'pirates'? All fun times with little to no fights._

Cartman sighed as those young childhood memories flooded his mind. They _did_ have fun together…

_Dude, we had the BEST time at your 11__th__ birthday! Man, we must've road that one coaster 10 times! ! We laughed a lot. All the while, there was no Kyle._

Cartman frowned. "Go figure…" Again, as long as that Jew was out of the picture he had good times with Stan. The only friend who really was on equal sides with him. Not soft like Butters, Stan had a fun and dark side to him which made him a hell of a more fun person to be around. He missed it.

_I kind of feel amused that without his presence, we got along fine. Guess we were always meant to be friends, just outside his viewpoint. That's fine. I love how we bonded over cats. (I know that sounds gay). But really, of __all__ things, no one would have guessed! I'll miss playing with Mr. Kitty. And it was fun when we both played with Chelsea. Just promise me you'll treat them right when I'm gone._

Tears formed around the corner of Cartman's eyes. He sniffed as he looked over to the tabby sitting across from him. It pained him so much to know that cat Stan loved so much was now his. It still didn't feel right. He still wanted to drop her off back at the Marsh house. There was nothing worse than a living, breathing reminder of what he had lost. Something that was more important to him than anything he gave to anyone else in his will. It was a lot of pressure on him to make Stan proud.

_I also want to thank-you for some stuff. Yes thank you. You have done some stuff I want to mention and recognize dude. Thanks for helping me when it came to saving all those baby veal calves, I couldn't have done any of it without you. You actually helped out more than anyone. You let us use your MI playset. You carried the calves. You stayed with us in my room the whole time. You negotiated like crazy. And lastly, you seemed to care that I would make it after being in the hospital and diagnosed as 'a pussy.' Must've made you laugh though._

Cartman smiled. "No- no problem man."

_Thanks for writing that one Christmas story in 4__th__ grade about __me__. I still don't know why you did it or why you gave me such a cool and crazy adventure with a happy ending. I guess I'll never know now._

Cartman sighed, sort of wishing he could tell all now.

_Thanks for joining Whale Wars with me. With your help we were able to get the Japanese to stop killing dolphins and whales. Thanks for making me laugh and smile. Thanks for all the fun times we had. For not once ever forcing me out of the group. For always liking me and never singling me out. For making me your 'bro.' For playing catch with me. For taking me to the nurse's office those two times when I had an asthma attack at school. For respecting me and what I had to say. For calling me the 'cool one.' For all your help and ideas for Smiles for Stan. When I think of it, 300 other things. Crazy huh man?_

Cartman grinned, surprised actually he had done all Stan had mentioned.

_Okay, I want to talk about the past 3 years… thanks for never being an ass about it. You always seemed concerned for me from the start. You had my back if people treated me differently. You came to visit often, a few times on your own. Sure you asked stupid things that first month (did I lose any hair? Did the chemo hurt? REALLY Cartman?) But I've gotten a lot more comfortable around those q's the past couple years so I'm not that offended now. You just wanted to know. Dude, Cartman, I am so glad we were able to become real friends._

Cartman sniffed; he could feel the sincerity coming from Stan.

_I'll never forget that warm Valentine's Day of when you came to visit me on your own and confessed your true feelings._

Cartman rubbed his neck. "C'mon dude, you- you're sounding kinda gay…"

_It's one of my favorite memories I'll take with me when I die. We've had a good pile of memories lately. When I think of it, you really have changed my life for the better dude and you aren't as bad as Kyle says you are. You have an evil mind but you know how to __get things done.__ Maybe if you stress that in real life you can really make something out of yourself. You could run your own business. Ha, you could even reach your ultimate dream of millions of dollars! :-) I believe it can happen man, you just gotta tone it down and not kill people along the way._

Tears spilled from Cartman's brown eyes. Someone actually believed in him? That was absurd…

_Wow, this is longer than I would have thought for you. I hope you've read every word and not burn it or something. I should close now._

_You really are a cool, funny, and crazy friend dude. You can really go places so just do it! (With as little bloodshed as possible, please). Look, I know you and Kyle are enemies so I'm not going to force you to become friends. But if you can try to keep the 5-some together. You can make it work with one less member. (Sometimes two depending on Kenny). Don't forget to visit my parents too. (Where else are you going to get the best brownies and blueberry muffins in town? Ha!) Keep our kitties happy Eric! ! Thanks again for everything. You've been a true friend to me since we were four. I'm going to miss 'Fatass' haha. Okay, really now, bye! Don't forget about Captain Marsh!_

_Your bro,_

_Stan_

_PS: Think of me as the same pussy, hippie, over-sensitive animal lover you want, but you were my friend._

_June 5&6, 2013_

Cartman drew in a rattled breath like a wounded buffalo. He had no idea how this letter would pan out. Certainly not like this. Maybe this letter was meant for Kyle, he just missed up the names. Stan had called him his friend a dozen times and it felt weird. They hardly ever told it to each other. If Cartman wasn't already questioning his sexuality, this letter only made it more complicated. He and Stan had many bad memories growing up yet Stan seemed to have remembered quite a few good ones. They outweighed all the bad things he thought about him. Because that was who he was. Stan was so easy to forgive and forget, he always wanted to live a calm and happy life with those he knew and loved. And even though Cartman was horrible and dark to the core, he wanted the same for him. He actually liked him as a friend. Cartman couldn't help it, he began to cry.

"Stupid hippie… don't- don't fucking get it. W-why you? Fucking piece of shit… it should have been anyone but you. Oh god…"

Too many contradicting feelings were taking hold; he never was one to show his true colors and defiantly wasn't one who gave a shit about others. Yet Stan was the person you couldn't help but care about because he cared about you in return. What was he supposed to do? He was the only kid he now knew really liked him as a friend and found him equal. Who didn't think he was all evil, who actually went along with a lot of his plans because he had such an upbeat outlook on things. It could work. And a lot of times it did. This one person he actually cared a _tiny_ bit about…

Cartman spent the rest of the night held up in his room, only getting out to clean up his bloodied face. It wasn't fair. Stan had grown up a lot since he had been diagnosed and he was able to look back on his life and not feel too upset at the bad things. Cartman wished he could just accept it and move on but it bothered him so much. He couldn't commit to change that easily. He couldn't bring himself to say he truly missed Stan and was so happy about his letter. To do so it meant he would have _those_ feelings again and he didn't need that. He wasn't gay, he wasn't bi! Why couldn't he just say Stan was a great guy to have as a friend without feeling weird by it?

Because he had lost everything in that friend. When Stan died so did all his great qualities. All the things he dared to find in another living being. A person who laughed at his jokes. Who saw his good side. Who liked cats. Who didn't put down his thoughts or beliefs. Someone who seemed to believe he wasn't doomed in life and didn't think being rich was an impossible dream. Someone he could trust to go to if things were bad enough to. Friend or lover, it would be impossible. He lost so much when Stan had died and that's what hurt the most. He was truly alone now.

Cartman lay in the dark, letter open on his bed as he laid on top his covers. Chelsea was sleeping next to Mr. Kitty on the bed as well. For what had to be the 110th time now, Into the Ocean by Blue October was playing. Cartman was singing under his breath.

"'_Not knowing how to think I scream aloud, begin to sink _

_My legs and arms are broken down _

_With envy for the solid ground _

_I'm reaching for the life within me _

_How can one man stop his ending_

_I thought of just your face _

_Relaxed, and floated into space _

_I want to swim away but don't know how_

_Sometimes it feels just like I'm fallin' in the ocean _

_Let the waves up take me down_

_Let the hurricane set in motion, yeah_

_Let the rain of what I feel right now, come down_

_Let the rain come down_…'"

Who was he kidding? He missed Stan. A whole lot too. He couldn't believe he was gone and he wanted him back. That one person who wasn't an enemy, wasn't some pushover, wasn't some white trash, wasn't someone who would beat him up because he was different… he was a normal kid who liked people and believed even the worst could change. Shelley did. Maybe he could too. But it would take a very long time. He knew he was different and these gay thoughts for not only Stan but other boys too would probably not go away anytime soon. He would just have to find a way to deal with it until girls became attractive again.

Stan was just his good friend who was on his journey in the afterlife. And Cartman was the lone man sitting on the shore as the waves took a hold of him, looking out into the sky for answers to why he felt like he was drowning every single day. He was alone, and for once, he felt human. For once, he was a sad boy who was missing that one special person. He had no one now, no one but his mother, his own cat, and the one his best friend left for him to care for. It would be a very difficult transition into a teenager for Eric and for once, he was scared.

_A/N: Probably not what everyone was thinking. We all wonder about Cartman's true sexual preferences. I decided to go with him having thoughts of both boys and girls. And the more he realized what he lost when Stan died, the more he realized he was more than just another 'friend.' But he is only 13 here, so it's your call if you think Eric ends up gay or bi or straight. I hope the letter wasn't too gay coming from Stan. He just matured quicker as he was dying and discovered what family and friends really mean at a young age. He had no choice. I see a lot of potential with Stan and Cartman as good friends when they get older no matter what happens. Anyway, there are four letters left. It may go by quicker as the next couple are shorter._

_Please leave reviews, thank-you!_

_Lots of love: Rose, February 28, 2012_


	7. Dr Davies' Letter

**DR. DAVIES' LETTER**

James Davies got himself ready for the same routine he had been in the past week almost. He slept in late and woke up late. He placed his bare feet on the floor for a few minutes before finally deciding he should shower. After, he wrapped a robe around him and went downstairs. He sat at his little breakfast table reading the paper and drinking coffee. The only other sounds in the condo was that of the birds twittering away outside. Other than that, silence. He welcomed in the silence actually and he was happy living alone without anyone else. He only spent all day at work looking after crying children and their nervous parents, the least he could request was a nice space of his own away from all that. But when he was home he found he was missing the chaos of his practice. He loved children and it warmed his heart he was the one who took care of them.

What was different today however was the fact that Dr. Davies wasn't going to go into work. He wasn't missing the children putting at his stethoscope or drawing on the white paper lining the exam tables. He didn't want it, and the reason he found wasn't a good one. Just a couple weeks ago one of his patients had died as a result of Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. The poor boy was only twelve and actually hadn't been suffering from the disease for too long. He had been going through chemotherapy for only two and a half years. Of course it was difficult knowing a child whose health you were looking after before he was diagnosed and after, in-between treatment, had passed away. But James Davies was only twenty-six and truthfully, wasn't used to having his patients die on him like this.

He worked for a little while as an ER doctor before opening a practice for pediatrics, thanks to his parents who were well-off. During that short time spent at Hell's Pass Hospital he had only witnessed four deaths, two elderly men, one druggie, and a woman in her forties who had been in a car accident. He had never experienced a child's death before and it hit him worse than anything else. He wasn't the one who actually gave Stanley his chemo drugs, but he saw him plenty of times when he was home and even a few visits at his hospital bed.

Dr. Davies felt naive thinking he'd never experience something like this eventually in his career. Leukemia was the most common form of cancer for children, he was bound to give the diagnosis and see the signs in a child eventually. But he had not. All the time examining children the majority of things he told parents were 'your child has asthma, diabetes, is overweight, underweight, or has an ear infection'. It had never been something as serious as leukemia. And to such an undeserving child too (not like any kid should have the disease). Poor Stanley Marsh had a reputation of hating hospitals and doctor's offices and needles and rubber gloves. It wasn't fair he would endure the worst of all those things and more. But being a doctor you came across many things that were not fair and you had to learn how to get up and move on. Yet somehow James could not. A patient of his had died, not on his own hands, but had still passed away due to an unfortunate situation.

Dr. Davies kept to himself the rest of the morning, trying to keep himself busy without doing busywork. It was the perfect time to catch up on paperwork or things of that nature that needed to be completed but he really wanted to stay away from his work as much as he could. He tried watching TV until the sound of the mail truck was heard just outside his building. He waited ten minutes before the mail man left. He stepped out, still in his robe, and went to grab his mail with a couple of his neighbors who greeted him and he waved a short hello back before going back inside. James flipped through a couple bills and boring crafts magazine but the thing he did not know was in the envelope on top the magazine. He looked at the address and saw that it came from Stanley Marsh's home. Curious he sat on his sofa and tore it open- to find another envelope inside. This one was smaller and had a post-it note on it.

_Our son left this to you in his will. We do not know what it is. Thank-you for everything you have done for my family. Randy Marsh_

James had no idea what this could be but he respected all the kids he took care of and if Stan wanted him to have whatever this was, he was going to have it. He opened it and found a letter, one page long. Defiantly not what he was expecting.

_Dr. Davies_

Was written in Stan's untidy lettering. Only then did the pediatrician notice he did not really recognize the boy's handwriting. He had never really had Stan fill out a form or anything when he was his patient and in general never had seen what his writing looked like. It felt a little odd to stare at this sheet of paper knowing the words written on them came from him and him alone. Well, he had nothing better to do, might as well see what it said. Hopefully it would make him feel a little less guilty.

_Hey, Stan here. I just wanted to take a quick time out to say thank-you for everything. You were a really cool doctor._

The man grinned.

_Remember how I told you during my first check-up/intro with you how much I hate doctor's offices and hospitals? Well you lessened my hate. I stopped getting annoyed that I had a doctor's appointment because of you. Sure you've only been my pediatrician for months before I was diagnosed but I still was always happy to see you. You're a really cool guy Dr. Davies. You make kids feel safe and you really care about them._

James felt his eye sting at the words.

_You lighten the mood all the time and make every visit a pleasant one. I'm really glad my family and you got real close real soon. It made my mom really happy especially. She couldn't believe she had found such a perfect pediatrician for me! Also, how much you seemed to care. A lot of time you can tell a doctor cares little about his patients and more about his pay-check. You are the complete opposite. You worked tirelessly with me. Diagnosing me and checking up on me after my diagnosis. Thanks so much for putting my needs first like that doctor. I'm sorry we couldn't get to know each other a bit more these past few years Dr. Davies._

"Hey, don't say that champ," James found himself saying.

_And since I was your patient for only a few years you might forget me._

James shook his head at this.

_But I won't forget you. You're a young, smart, kind, selfless man and that could be hard to find in the medical world. :-) Thanks though for all your help and being a real good doctor. I will miss you!_

_Your "champ",_

_Stan_

_June 7__th__ 2013_

James looked at the date again and shook his head; this was written only a month ago. It was almost eerie. He sat there for a small while, thinking over what he had received and read. He had to admit it was making him feel slightly more cheery but he was also tinged with sadness. It was as if the spirit of Stan was coming out of the paper, he could almost see this boy sitting in his hospital bed writing it. He wondered who else may have gotten a letter before shaking his head knowing that was stupid. He had to have written to his family and friends as well. But it was so sweet for him to have thought of him as well. That he was important enough in the child's life to have words to spill too. A tear burned his eye once again thinking of Stan.

His thoughts then traveled to all the other kids he whose health he was responsible for. He rubbed his eyes; he felt horrible. He was stewing in his own sadness too much to be bothered with children. The things he had dedicated his life to for so long now. He loved kids and he was abandoning them for days now. He knew there were parents who would not be pleased with him. What if there was something seriously wrong with any of the kids who came into his clinic? What if there was another little Stanley Marsh whom he had to see and diagnose?

James got to his feet and took hold of the letter. He had to smile.

"You're welcome for everything…champ. I've got some other kids who need me now so I'm going to run okay?" He had plans to pin the letter up in his office back at his clinic should he fall short anytime in his life again and need an extra push. Stan wouldn't be the last child whom he gave bad news to and he wouldn't be the last child whom he would watch suffer and grow more ill before a disease finally took hold of his life. This was what he did and he couldn't take every case to heart like this. James went up the stairs, deciding to dress for the day and call in Pediatric Medicine to tell them he would be in tomorrow. It would be a new day and he was certain he'd feel refreshed and ready to go.

_Short but to the point. Only three more letters left. Review and come back for those three. Thanks._

_Lots of love: Rose, April 3, 2012_


	8. Alice's Letter

**ALICE'S LETTER**

It was July 25th and Alice Freedman took her time getting out of bed. The sun was already beaming its way through her window. She sat up in bed for a moment, just thinking. Suddenly there was a knock on her door and her roommate Kimmy poked her head in.

"I'm getting breakfast started hon," she said carefully.

Alice looked up and gave a slight smile. "Thanks, I'll be right there." Kimmy nodded and stepped out.

Sighing, Alice got to her feet and put her yellow robe over her and walked out. She took up a seat on the barstool as Kimmy passed along a cup of coffee.

"Pancakes are almost done," She spoke.

Alice took a sip from her coffee. "Stan loved your pancakes. Remember when you made them that morning after we celebrated his birthday?"

Kimmy smiled. "Yeah, he did. Wow, that little party seems so long ago doesn't it?"

"It does but it also feels like it just happened. And it kind of did." Alice rubbed her eyes. "It was in October. Only nine months or so ago."

The two were quiet as they began their breakfast. Kimmy did not want to bring the name of the boy her friend used to tutor but she had just mentioned him minutes ago. It was a sad situation but Alice seemed to be doing better since he had died.

"Do you… think he's happy now? Wherever he is?" Kimmy asked softly.

"He was so smart and sweet and full of adventure. He's no doubt happy in Heaven," Alice looked confident. "But I can't help thinking how he was taken. Or why. I keep trying to see _why_ he was but I can't." Her voice was rough now.

Kimmy was agnostic so she didn't live life trying to see reasons why the good or bad things happened. She didn't think it was a higher power's doing but Alice did so she had to be there for her at the difficult time and try to help her make some sense of it.

"It only happened a couple weeks ago. Don't stress yourself out trying to come up with a reason 'why' just yet. Maybe you find the 'why' months from now. No one said grieving is an easy thing."

Kimmy's words held a lot of truth in them and after she was finished with her meal, Alice went back to her room to reflect on them. Of course it would be painful to loose someone you were close to. She had always known this but she never really fully understood what that was like. She lived a typical happy family life and had no experienced any deaths of anyone she was close to her whole life. Now she had and the fact that her first real traumatic experience was the death of a child defiantly made it hard to move on from. She would constantly tell herself she shouldn't feel this upset, it's not as if Stan was her little brother or cousin or anything. He was just the boy she tutored. A smart one already and who loved learning from her. He would always tell her it was because of her he found an interest in writing. A talent he already had but was too embarrassed to show. That's what being a teacher was about, helping a child find enjoyment out of learning. He gave her that feeling each time she saw him.

Alice couldn't imagine what Stan's family must have been going through at the moment. She always loved children and she couldn't begin to guess the pain his parents were in. What could be worse than the death of your child? She wanted to visit the family to see how they were but they were back in South Park and she couldn't find time to travel that far right now. She didn't want to lose contact with them though so she hoped she'd find the strength in herself to see them soon.

The 25-year-old was able to get herself ready for the day but as soon as she was finished fixing her hair she retreated back to her bedroom again. She grit her teeth as her eyes began to sting with tears. She closed her eyes and let them fall and put her hands to her head.

"Lord, it's me. I hate to ask but I'm still trying to find reason for Stanley's death. Why did you take him? He was only twelve. He was such a sweet little boy and he had so much going for him. Now that he's gone I'm finding myself afraid of the future. Afraid of what I should do. I can't become a teacher now, what if one of my students falls ill like he did? I can't experience this again. Children… they should not have to live with such pain. And the pain his family is going through…" she sniffed and pushed back a strand of hair. "All I ask is for a sign, a reason to why this happened. I need strength to go on and put it behind me. I wish I wasn't so attached to children but each one is special. I just want something to show me things will be okay and that Stanley is happy and free. I know he didn't exactly believe in you but show me he's okay… please…"

The room was quiet except for the people on the floor below outside talking loudly. Alice sat on her bed for close to five minutes before she suddenly gasped. She felt the need to go to her bedside table where she dug through a small pile of papers and found it- an envelope addressed to her in Stan's writing. She received it in the mail with a post-it note on it that read: _Our son wanted to give this to you during the reading of his will. Thank-you for everything you have done for our family. Randy Marsh._

Alice opened the envelope up and saw a letter written front-to-back from Stanley. She had yet to read it but perhaps now was better than letting it sit there any longer. She was certain reading it would only make her feel even more upset but she went on with it still.

_Alice_

_Hey, it's Stan. I decided to write a letter to my favorite people in case I succumbed to the leukemia. So if you are reading this, that means it has happened. I want to say I am really happy I had gotten to know you Alice the past 3 years. Not only were you my tutor, you were also my friend._

This put a small smile on the young woman's face. Perhaps it was a good thing she decided to finally open the letter.

Y_ou have no idea how happy I was when I found out you were going to be my tutor. I knew you were the one from that one interview. At first I was a little skeptical about having a tutor but you quickly proved to me it was a good idea. You made me love to learn, something I never really felt before. You made lessons fun and really got to know __me__. Thanks for that. I loved our first picnic lunch and all our lessons at the park. I had no idea you could learn so much there and have a fun time at the same time!_

Alice smiled sadly as she remembered; there was a nice park ten minutes from the apartment the Marsh family rented in Denver. There were many trees and flowers and shrubs and grassy areas. Many science lessons took place there and Stan always enjoyed them. There were also birds to document and dogs to observe. Activities of all kinds took place at the park so it provided many teaching opportunities and defiantly held some of her best moments with the boy too.

_It was actually cool learning about trees and plants and bugs and people in general, all at the park. You even made some math lessons fun and we all knew how much I hated math. But most importantly, you gave me a love and understanding for language. Reading and spelling were always my favorite lessons but you made me see why. You made me see I was good at it and it didn't have to just be reading books I hated or looking at a list of words to enjoy the subject. You made it into a game- my favorites were Pirate's Cove and Create-a-Story. Loved those._

Alice chuckled. When she first met Stan he told her how he liked writing and reading but never did much with it but what was required in school. But since Alice wanted to teach children of a younger age she couldn't help but make games out of his lessons. And her mother was a fifth grade teacher so she always had tips and inspiration from her. And they worked. Stan was a kid who loved games and changing things up a bit and benefited from their unique assignments. He became a top writer by the time he reached sixth grade and Alice herself couldn't help but feel proud.

_You also made me like to write. I told you already I wrote journal entries nearly every week but only because I felt obligated. I began writing more entries after you began tutoring me. Not only that but I began writing poems. POEMS of all things! How many boys really write poems? But you never criticized, only made me more confident. Thanks Alice. Thanks for being a great 5__th__, 6__th__, and 7__th__ grade tutor. I learned a lot and had a good time doing it. Away from lessons…_

_I had a great time with just you. Like I mentioned earlier, I enjoyed our picnics. You never judged me when I told you I picked up knitting as a hobby. You encouraged me with stuff. I had fun at your apartment! Especially that 12__th__ birthday sleepover party you held for me! That was such a fun night. I'm happy to've met your roommate Kimmy and friends Claire and Sarah. They were real crazy and fun. Most guys would be jealous that me, a 12-year-old, spent the night with three 25-year-olds! HA!_

Alice laughed after reading this. She reminisced about the late birthday party earlier during breakfast. It really wasn't that long ago. She felt bad she couldn't make it to Stan's twelfth birthday that was being held back at his home in South Park. From what he told her it was going to be his biggest party yet. But since she had been helping him out with school since the fifth grade she wanted to hold her own little celebration for him. And since she spoke of him often to her friends, they wanted to join in as well. She was relieved Stan's mother allowed her to hold the little party since at this point in his leukemia; she was very protective of him. But it had been just what she wanted; fun and safe and enjoyable for everyone. Her friends even visited Stan in the hospital during treatments a couple times after. He was just a friendly boy to be around and was happy with the extra support.

_The Sunday making. Watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Designing t-shirts. 'Teaching' you guys how to knit! Sarah couldn't even hold the knitting needles right! Then you getting one of my favorite ice cream flavors and making me a cake. I don't care of it was from a box, it still tasted good! Thanks for not allowing alcohol though, I __was__ only twelve. That was such a fun night though, thanks. I'm happy I got to meet your mom and the rest of your family too for that BBQ. That was a nice evening. Your mom is real sweet, just like you. _

Alice again couldn't help but smile at the kind comment.

_Thanks for visiting me in the hospital all those times and treating me like a normal kid. You were great about my asthma too, always making sure I was feeling okay. I should wrap now. Thank-you for everything you've done. I hope you don't lose track of my family now that I'm gone. Also, I think you will make a GREAT first grade teacher. Hope East Hills Elementary needs a 1__st__ Grade teacher soon! Thanks again._

_Your friend,_

_Stan_

Alice set the letter aside and looked out, not thinking of anything in particular. She felt odd. She was amazed that a letter from a child who had recently died could make her feel so warm inside. She expected tears to be rolling down her cheeks for it was such a sad situation. It was. But Stan made sure to not make it so. She knew he was depressed when he was first diagnosed but he was a happy and exciting kid when they met. Even when tough times hit his family he always kept a positive look on it. She couldn't believe anyone with such a terrible disease could enlighten others. Stan was a special case she supposed. Probably not someone she would run into or help anytime soon.

Alice still had her teaching career to start and funny enough; she didn't feel as afraid of it now. At least not now. There were going to be so many faces she would meet when it did start and soon more stories and families would touch her heart. But she would never forget the story of Stanley Marsh. She could see it now; pulling the letter out from her desk when those tough days hit. When future students wouldn't pay attention or listen. When there were fights to break out or there was a child being singled out for a number of reasons. Stanley would remind her there were many tough things in life. Even if she never experienced much growing up, his short life would be the thing telling her that through the dark, there was always the possibility of light. It was more than she could ever ask for. With that, she left her bedroom, ready to finally hit downtown for a bite to eat because life was only beginning for her.

_I was finally able to get back to the letters. I decided to opt posting the letter for Stan's oncologist, Dr. Fohlkoly, since it consisted similarities to the one to Dr. Davies. There is only one letter left now, Sharon's. I still have no idea what I am going to do for that one but I hope I am able to plan and post it before the year ends. So check back when you can. Thank-you so much for reading._

_Lots of love,_

_Rose, October 4, 2012_


End file.
